


Race to the Stones

by isthisclever



Series: Race to the Stones AU [1]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: AU, Adventure, Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Brianna and Fergus, Child Loss, Claire stays in the past, Danger, Depression, Drinking, F/M, Family, High Stakes, Lallybroch, Motherhood, Pregnancy, Purposefully overestimating the age / graphicness level so as not to take anyone off guard, Rescue, Sibling Bonding, Swearing, TRIGGERS MAY INCLUDE VIOLENCE / DOMESTIC VIOLENCE / STALKING / NON-CONSENT / ALCOHOL, Time Travel, angsty, broch tuoroch, but some happiness, craig na dun, rainbow child, stones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:22:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 67,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25161580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthisclever/pseuds/isthisclever
Summary: **AU In which Prince Charles never forges Jamie's signature in his support and, therefore, Jamie and Claire are able to avoid the conflict and continue living at Lallybroch as Laird and Lady following the Rising.**Five years after Claire disappears from 1945, Frank finally discovers a clue as to what truly happened to her. The years without her have eroded his hope and his own sense of self, leaving a desperate man to take a desperate action in the hopes of reuniting with his wife.In 1749, Jamie and Claire's family is growing...again. Lallybroch and its inhabitants are living in relative peace following Culloden, but that will all come crashing down with the reappearance of a familiar face. And when danger arises, Claire and Jamie must race to thwart their enemies or risk being separated forever.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Series: Race to the Stones AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952686
Comments: 813
Kudos: 550





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note that this is an AU where Charles did not forge Jamie's name in his support; therefore, Jamie and Claire were able to avoid the conflict and continue living at Lallybroch as Laird and Lady following the Rising. This AU will also utilize details from both the TV show and the books and may contain spoilers for both. Also note that, historically and geographically, I'm doing my best based on the info in the books or adding what's necessary for this particular AU story. 
> 
> I do not own any of these characters; all rights for Outlander characters belong to Diane Gabaldon. 
> 
> (I have several weeks planned and ready to go with this story and plan to post once weekly as of now.)

_**Please note that these first two sections are not happening concurrently in time. There is a 202-year difference between the past and present. So 1746 = 1948 ; 1748 = 1950.** _

**November 1746**

Claire had been dreaming of hot baths recently. It happened every so often. Rarely did she focus on what she'd given up in the future in order to stay with Jamie, but in times of stress or pain or uncertainty, her subconscious mind sought refuge in old comforts.

In her dream, she lounged in a tub. The water steamed but did not scorch her skin. Dim light from flickering candles soothed her spirit as much as the heat soothed her aching muscles. She kept her eyes closed. Tendrils of damp hair clung to her neck and face.

Still, the pain seeped through.

"Wake up, Sassenach," she heard her husband's voice calling to her.

Another shock of pain took her breath away.

Awaking with a gasp, Claire lifted her head and nearly collided with Jamie's just above her.

"Claire," he whispered, both relieved and alert. "You all right, lass?"

She took a moment to fully awaken. The room was still dark, the patterns on the white and blue wallpaper of the Laird's room hardly visible in the low light from the smoored hearth.

Without answering, Claire swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, her hand rubbing her protruding belly in circles, comforting herself as well as the child within. She paced between the bed and the window, Jamie watching her without speaking. She paced, and she waited.

Then another pain bent her double. Jamie was at her side in an instant. "Claire?" he asked.

"I'm all right," she answered. "But I think you'd better call the midwife."

At times, Claire was sure she'd not make it through. And looking to Jamie's face, beside her always, she saw in his eyes he feared it as well. It was impossible not to think of the last time she'd been in this place, trying desperately to bring their child forth but without success. As the pain grew and as her energy waned, Claire clutched his hands in hers and willed herself to keep going. That itself was a comfort; she had been so far gone with Faith that the coherency necessary to even hope to survive had eluded her.

But early the next morning, after a full day of laboring and hours of delivery, she did it. They did it. Brianna Ellen Janet Fraser, with pink cheeks and wisps of red hair too short to see if it would curl or not, slept in her arms. Claire and Jamie cried over her, unable to take their eyes away from this gift they'd given to each other. A piece of Claire would always be lost with the child she'd been unable to save. But with this one in her arms, safe and warm against her skin, she allowed a portion of that wound to heal.

#

**October 31, 1950**

It was a stupid idea. He told himself that a million and one times on the flight to Scotland, on the train ride to Inverness, while staying in the Reverend's home, and on the drive to the hill. Nothing but pure hope and delusion. Not the kind of thing he should even consider a possibility.

But that signature....he couldn't deny that visceral reaction when he'd seen it four months previously and recognized the handwriting subconsciously before even reading the name. Researching his newest book surrounding the aftermath of the Battle of Culloden in the Highlands, Frank stumbled upon a file of signed oaths to the king. After the failure of the Bonny Prince, many Scots (particularly those with criminal histories or ties to traitors) were made to pledge their loyalty to the king with an oath, both verbal and written, in order to protect themselves from retribution and prosecution under the law. And in the file of signed oaths, he'd come across a name and signature he'd recognized.

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Fraser, signed alongside James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.

The same oversized C, the same gap between the Z and A of the middle name where Claire always lifted the pen. The same even and monotonous stream of letters following the B of her maiden name. He couldn't deny that signature. He'd seen it nearly exactly on his own marriage certificate.

For five years, he'd tried to forget Claire, tried to hate her for leaving him because with no leads and no evidence, that's the only thing that had made sense. Even the faint spark of hope when Mrs. Graham had fed him the fairy tale of Craig Na Dun before he left Scotland for good had long faded until the only peace he found was in an empty bottle of anything.

But now...

For months, he shifted his research instead to the tales surrounding this damned hill. Legend had it that the veil residing within the stone was thinnest on certain days, one of them being Samhain, October 31.

If she _had_ fallen through and gotten trapped, if she _had_ left him by accident and not by choice, then he had to try.

Through his search and preparations, he thought about the other name next to hers. James Fraser. Signed side by side, and the name made it impossible that they were anything but husband and wife. But he could forgive that. He knew how difficult it would have been to survive in this time alone as a woman. Even a woman as fierce and strong-willed as his wife -- perhaps _especially_ so -- would have needed someone to provide for and protect her. If she hadn't been able to get back -- if the veil had fallen back over and she'd believed him lost to her forever -- she'd have to have done whatever she could to stay alive. And marrying was her best chance.

Yes, he could forgive her for that and largely already had.

He climbed the hill and told himself yet again that this was a ridiculous notion. The last gasp of a husband on the verge of giving up completely. But giving up Claire for lost would be to give up hope for himself. If she was truly gone, truly living forever in the arms and bed of another man (even if it was a match of survival), he just couldn't go on. It was a stupid idea, yes, because time travel was inherently absurd.

But it was also stupid because if it didn't work, there'd truly be no recourse left, and he knew he'd never survive it. Not without her.

His head began to ache as he entered the perimeter of the stones. A humming sound came from somewhere nearby, perhaps a bee hive. Frank looked to the center stone with apprehension and distaste. It may have been the foul beast that had stolen his wife, stolen five years of his own life in mourning and yearning. But if it worked, if it took him too, maybe he could make up for the lost time.

The humming grew louder, more of a roar. With a deep sigh, Frank approached the center stone with outstretched hands. As his fingertips touched the stone, he felt himself fall upwards...and outwards. Backwards and downwards. Screams shook his bones and gravity pulled him in every direction and compressed him to a single point of existence.

Either it had worked or he was dying. In the seconds before consciousness came back, he realized either one worked for him.


	2. The Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrived in the past, Frank makes and remakes his plans to find Claire. 
> 
> The residents of Lallybroch go about their day-to-day business in contentment, but the appearance of an unexpected but familiar face shatters their peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, Thank you ALL for your encouragement! You have no idea what it means to me. 
> 
> I'm too excited to wait a full week with these early sections. I'll get a few more out these next few days then slow down as I get closer to catching up to myself. So bear with me. 
> 
> Also, I'm experimenting with a bit of the brogue, but I don't want it to be distracting so I'm just inserting bits here and there. 
> 
> Please enjoy. :)

**April 2, 1749**

"Bree! Would you stop squirming, please, and let me clean this cut?" Claire snapped at her daughter on the stool.

The two-and-a-half-year-old girl stuck out her lower lip, which began to tremble, and rubbed her watery eyes with the hand not held by her mother. "Hurts, Mama," she whimpered.

Claire took a breath. "Yes, I know," she said in a tone of feigned patience. "But that's what happens when you jump off hay bales, isn't it?" She took another look at the scrape on Brianna's elbow. It wasn't serious by any means, but she'd cleaned it with whisky to avoid infection, and the sting had brought forth the tears that the injury itself had not.

Claire would need to be more careful, keep a better watch. Brianna wanted to follow her older cousins around but failed to realize that she was still too small to join in all the adventures with wee Jamie and Maggie and Fergus. Today it was a skinned elbow, but it well could have been a broken arm if the hay bale had been more than two feet tall. With her patients to tend and the exhaustion that came with another pregnancy, Claire had been too lax, assuming Bree would be safe with her also-young cousins.

"I'll talk to Fergus today," she said more to herself than Brianna as she wrapped the cut with clean linen. "We'll make sure he takes good care of you while I'm working."

Claire let out a breath and stood, stretching her back to reduce the ache from bending over. She placed her hand on her bump, not yet visible through her gown but pronounced enough to feel. Five more months and Brianna would have a new little brother or sister. She smiled, caressing the bump as she tried to imagine what he or she would look like. Would she have another red-haired child, or would the next one favor her more with the hues of brown and auburn? Brianna's whisky eyes were Claire's; would the next child have Jamie's ice blue?

As she lifted Brianna from her stool and grasped her tiny hand to lead her toward the kitchen for the noon meal, Claire heard the large front doors open. A moment later, Ian and Jamie entered the kitchen.

"Da!" Brianna cried and released her mother's hand, barreling into her father, red curls bouncing down her back.

"Bree!" he answered and swooped her into his arms, planting kisses on her nose and cheeks and hair before settling her on his hip. "What's this then, _mo nighean ruadh_?" he asked, touching the bandage and strolling toward the bench at the kitchen table. "What havoc are ye wreaking for your mam?"

"Och, just Claire bein' a bit owercautious, brother," Jenny piped in as she dished out some bread with cheese to the men. "Naught but a bit of a scrape from the hay in the barns."

Claire rolled her eyes. "All right, it was a small scrape, but even small scrapes can get infected." She walked over to Jamie, kissing him gently before poking Bree playfully in the tummy. "Better to keep it clean and discourage tiny lasses from jumping off hay bales."

Jenny scoffed again. "Better hope the next one isn't a laddie, Claire," she joked. "We'll run outta whisky tryin' to keep all a lad's scratches clean."

"Ah, she'll be better once he's born," Jamie joked, sitting at the table with Brianna on his knee as he pulled the plate over. "She gets a wee bit owerbearin' when she's carryin', but it'll pass once he's here."

"'He,' is it?" she asked, sitting beside him. Claire knitted her fingers through the curls at the base of his neck.

"Aye," Jamie replied after a bite of bread. "A wee lad, 'tis. I can tell when I speak to him. 'Tis a braw laddie inside yer belly, sure as rain falls downwards from the sky."

"Hmph. Well, we'll see," Claire answered. "And, yes, I may turn into a bit of a Mother Bear when pregnant, but you won't be laughing so hard when she tries following wee Jamie off the loft next time."

"Mother Bear?" Jamie asked, cocking an eyebrow as he chewed another bite, swallowing and smirking at her. "Are bears more protective than other animals, then?"

"Perhaps," Claire answered with a smirk of her own. "It was just an expression I heard growing up. I've never been close enough to a mother bear to ask her personally."

"And may ye never, Sassenach."

They continued to joke and chat their way through the meal until Jamie and Ian prepared to return to the fields. Jamie planted a kiss on Brianna's forehead before turning to her mother seated beside him. "Try not to worry yerself too hard, Sassenach," he said softly before leaning in for a deep kiss. "'Tis normal for weans to have scrapes and bumps from time to time. Ye ken Fergus and Jamie wouldna let real harm come to either of the lasses."

Claire stroked his cheek with her thumb. "I know," she whispered. "But I see so many people come in with festering cuts and wounds left untended, it's hard not to imagine the worst."

She tried to keep the genuine concern from her voice, but she knew he heard it. Jamie's eyebrows furrowed, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder in comfort, leaning his head against hers with Brianna still held between them. "But ye forget yer here to make sure naught goes untended," Jamie reminded her. "So dinna fash, lass. She's safe, and the bairn in your belly, too." He pulled away just far enough to place a hand on her belly, grasping it tightly as though wishing he could reach straight through to hold the child within. "We'll keep them all safe, all the bairns to come."

That made Claire laugh. "Let's get through them one at a time. How about that?"

He smiled and got that look in his eyes that made Claire melt. How she wished he had another hour before going back to work. How she wished she could drag him up to the room and see how quickly they could melt together.

Jamie cocked an eyebrow; her face must have shown her thoughts, as usual. "Aye, Sassenach." He took her hand and kissed her knuckles then, his lips lingering for just a moment, before passing Brianna to her mother, then standing and turning toward the door and following Ian back to the fields.

Claire scooped Brianna into her arms and strolled to stand in the open door and watch Jamie go. "Can you wave bye-bye to Da?" she asked, putting up her own hand to show her.

Brianna copied her mother, raising her hand and rocking it back and forth. "Bye, Da!" she cried out. Jamie, nearly to the arch of the dooryard, turned and waved back with a contented smile.

#

**April 4, 1749**

The Scottish winter had been brutal. Frank had first tried to make his way directly to Lallybroch, following the marked route on the map he'd brought through the stones, but had tripped only an hour into his trek. A sprained ankle and wrist had put a halt to any plans to make the days-long walk to the estate. Instead, he turned toward Inverness to recuperate and prepare provisions for the journey. Perhaps he could even buy or borrow a horse to keep weight off the ankle.

However, by the time he arrived in Inverness, his ankle would bear no weight. Frank had enough money with him to buy a few nights in the tavern but not nearly enough to rest as long as he needed or purchase a horse. He'd struck an agreement with the tavern owner to work off his stay once his ankle would take weight, and two weeks later, he set to work. He didn't have much in the way of practical skills, but it didn't take much skill to clean or take food scraps to the animals outside. And in the dark hours of the night and early morning, he'd sat beside the man, emptying bottles of ale and whisky, imparting stories woven from bits of history the man would never survive to see or stories of his time with Claire, adapted for the 18th century. The tavern owner, starved for entertainment in the small town, drank up every one as surely as they drank down his own wares.

After a full month of work, the debt had been paid and Frank turned his focus once again to Lallybroch, but the weather had other notions. The snows and rains made roads impassable by foot or beast. Frustration overtook him as the weeks carried on, unable to make way toward his destination. And if all that hadn't been enough for one trip, some kind of sickness made its way through the village, and Frank fell victim to that in February, as well. Fever kept him in bed in various states of delirium and weakness for weeks, and the recuperation took several weeks more.

It was late March before the weather and his own strength finally allowed him to head toward Lallybroch. He'd continued working for the tavern as much as his condition allowed, and the owner -- either out of respect for his work or out of pity -- had kept him on and, as he prepared to leave, packed him a bag of provisions.

"I hope ye find yer wife, soon, Mr. Randall," the owner said as he bid him farewell. "Ye may be naught but a Sassenach, but ye tell braw tales and yer no a bad cook neither."

Frank nodded to him from the horse he'd also borrowed from the tavern owner. "Thank you, Mr. McGillivray, for all your help."

He hadn't much experience on a horse, but he found that he took to it rather quickly. Frank encouraged the horse toward the road and left town at a gallop. Four months lost with one setback after another. Four more months Claire had been scared and trapped, not knowing he'd come for her. Had winter been as unkind to her as it had been to him?

In the days to come as he made his way forward in the day and camped in the woods at night, he imagined over and over the scene when Claire realized he'd found her. Frank dreamed of the shocked look of relief that would freeze her gaze to him, the tears that would overwhelm her as she ran into his arms and cried when she realized he was truly there. He imagined the first kiss in five years, deep and warm, as his own tears finally escaped into her dark curls as he held her tight to his chest.

How to extricate her from her current marriage would take improvising and luck, for certain, but for Claire, he'd do it. He'd do whatever needed to be done to finally bring her home.

#

**April 11, 1749**

"'Tis a bonny day for washin' now," Jenny said as she began scrubbing the first of her husband's clothes in the basin before her. "Always prefer a nice sunny day for washin'."

"Yes, it is a beautiful day, isn't it?" Claire replied from her own tub. She glanced behind her in the dooryard where Brianna, Maggie, and Fergus were playing with one of the smaller dogs. She smiled as Fergus encouraged Brianna to be kind and gentle but cast a watchful glance at the dog should it get any ideas about nipping his baby sister. Fergus was getting old enough to take on more work and chores about the estate, but Claire kept him close at hand to tend to Brianna. Really, she just wanted him to enjoy being a child, a luxury he'd never had when thieving his way through Paris.

"Have you and Jamie decided on names, then?" Jenny asked, making conversation as they worked through their chore.

Claire turned back toward her sister-in-law. "Well, I think William for a boy is a given, at least. But we haven't talked much about any other names. He's convinced it'll be a boy this time."

"And yer not?"

She paused, putting a hand to her stomach in thought. "I'm not sure," she finally replied. "Some days, I know in my bones it's another girl as though I can already see her. But other days, I think he may be right and maybe there's a William in here after all."

Jenny laughed as she wrung out the shirt in her hands. "I've been wrong about both mine so far," she said, reaching for another garment. "Well, you ken I was convinced Maggie would be a lad, but it was just the opposite for wee Jamie. I called him 'she' 'til he came out and told me I was wrong. Next one, I'll just call it a wee tattie and see what happens when it's born"

Claire smiled at her. "Had you chosen a name for him before you knew it would be a him?"

"Och, no," Jenny said. "I try not to name them before they arrive. It's hard enough imagining them before they get here, ye ken, and realizing that they're their own person, separate from what you thought. But to put a name to it, too..."

Claire nodded in understanding. She loved watching Brianna grow and develop her own little personality, but it was with a certain resignation that the child she'd dreamed and imagined was something else entirely, a person she'd never know. Even recognizing it to be so, she still dreamed of what and who the third Fraser baby would be. It would be impossible not to, really. And despite herself, the more Jamie was convinced she carried a boy, the more she thought of the life within her as wee William.

Jenny and Claire returned to work in silence, glancing over at the clump of playing children occasionally. They were nearly ready to go inside to eat at noon when wee Jamie and Rabbie came running through the archway.

"Mam! Someone's comin' up the road!" Jamie exclaimed, panting with the exertion of sprinting.

Jenny stood up. "Redcoats?" she asked him. They'd been relatively lucky in the last three years. Having kept as far from the Rising as possible in both geography and association, they'd only had occasional visits from soldiers. But those few visits had been more than enough to put them all on guard when anyone spotted flashes of red coming toward the house. After the first visit only weeks following Culloden when the soldiers had taken nearly all their stored food, Jamie and Ian had built hidden cellars to store provisions. They'd also locked and hidden away any items deemed too valuable to lose should the Redcoats take a fancy to them. The soldiers had marred the wooden entry with their swords on that first visit, upending furniture at times and causing petty destruction in the house and yard. All a show of intimidation to keep them in line.

So even with visits few and far between, the idea of Redcoats on the road was enough strike terror in all their hearts.

"Nae, Mistress," Rabbie replied. "'Tis only one man on a horse."

Jenny nodded. "Right, then. Fergus, take the bairns inside. Jamie and Rabbie, go fetch your Da and Uncle Jamie." She looked to Claire as they dashed away. "We should be all right till they arrive."

Claire nodded back before turning around. Fergus had walked up to her side when Jamie and Rabbie came running in, and the small girls had begun chasing some of the chickens through the yard. Jenny and Claire walked to the girls and pulled them toward the door, shooing the chickens back to their routine along the way. "Right. Brianna, little dove, go inside with Fergus. We'll be ready to eat soon," she said in a cheerful voice. Maggie, being a few years older, released her own mother's hand and made toward the front steps at a jog while Fergus took Brianna's hand.

Sighing, Claire went back to the wash basin. "There's just a few more items need hanging to dry," she said to Jenny. "Why don't you go in and get the food ready?"

"And leave ye out here to greet the man alone? Ne'er on yer life, Claire," Jenny scoffed but with a tense smile. "Nah, will take nae time at all if we both do it. Mrs. Crook can keep the bairns sorted a few minutes more."

So in silence, they hung the wet garments, the wind making the items sway gently. They both moved slowly, taking the excuse to remain outside so they could size up the visitor before he encroached too far into the yard.

"Mama!" came Bree's voice as she appeared in the door. "Mama, is't time to eat now?"

Fergus appeared behind the child, an apologetic shrug as he kept her from descending the stairs. Claire smiled at the pair and opened her mouth to reply.

"Blessed Bride, protect us," she heard Jenny breathe behind her. Claire turned to her sister, saw her eyes wide and her skin blanched as she gazed in horror toward the arch in the yard. Claire followed her stare and froze herself.

"No," she breathed.

Black Jack Randall.

No, he'd died. She knew he'd die at Culloden and a letter from Mary in the weeks that followed had confirmed as much, one of the many deaths -- all needless save for Randall's -- on that damnable moor. Yet, here he stood. Not as stately as he had been all the past times she'd come face to face with this demon, to be sure. His clothes were worn and torn, and his shortened hair hung disheveled about his ears. Skin pale, a sheen of sweat even visible across the yard. His shoulders also slumped in a way they never had before, a weariness that went beyond the body. But there was no mistaking that face.

"Claire?" he asked, and her world shattered.

Not Black Jack. Frank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mo nighean ruadh = my red-haired lass


	3. Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a chaotic, hostile introduction, Frank and Jamie finally meet face to face as truths come out and choices are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one got away from me a bit length-wise, but it didn't feel right to separate any part of this out, so enjoy the extra long chapter. :) I also needed to retool a bit because, dolt that I am, in the fervor of pantsing my way through this story I forgot about what happened with Fergus and BJR. But I think I like how it ended up better anyway, so thanks to all the comments for reminding me of a key canon plot point lol. 
> 
> Possible TW re: Physical assault, violence.

No, it couldn't be Frank. That was impossible. He wasn't in this time; he couldn't be standing here, not after so many years. Not after she'd chosen someone else over him. He belonged behind a desk in a library or his office with a red pen and essays and research, theorizing and postulating with colleagues over pipe tobacco and port, studying these years from the safety of fluorescent lighting and wing-backed chairs. Not here. Not in it.

Claire felt cold. Her hands felt numb, her fingers nonexistent. She felt her mind go fuzzy as she just stared at the man framed in the archway. She and Jenny both stared. Frank took a few hesitant steps toward her, dropping the reins of the horse as he did so.

"Claire?" he said again, as though doubting himself. It broke the spell. She turned to Fergus and Brianna in the doorway. "Take her in the house and stay there," she called to them. She then turned to Jenny, whose white face had broken into a sweat as Frank approached. Claire took her by the shoulders.

"Jenny, it's not him. It's someone else," Claire said. Frank had stopped his forward progress.

"How can it be? That face..."

"Go inside, Jenny," Claire said firmly. Jenny cast a glance to her, and Claire saw both terror and fierce anger in her eyes.

"I'll no leave ye out here with the man," her sister said. As she saw the strained fright behind Claire's eyes, Jenny's own grew wider. "You ken him, then?"

"Please, Jenny," Claire whispered. "I will explain it later, but I need you to go inside."

Jenny had yet to move when Claire turned back toward Frank. As soon as she looked into his face, he closed the gap and threw his arms around her.

"Oh, Claire!" he breathed into her hair. "I knew it. I knew I'd make it."

Claire stood stiff beneath his touch, not returning the embrace, not even breathing. But Frank didn't seem to notice. He took a step back, and Claire watched him drink her in with his eyes. Something in those eyes -- something that had never been there in their marriage -- terrified her. They seemed frantic, erratic. Shock and fear froze her to the bone.

"Where is he?" he asked. Claire couldn't respond, couldn't find her voice.

"The men are in the fields yonder and will be back 'fore long," Jenny piped in, voice barely trembling even as her more standard commanding tone took over. "And just who are you?"

"Her husband," he snapped at Jenny.

"No," Claire whispered again.

Frank's lips pressed together in a line as Claire watched his eyes turn back toward the arch, as though he was making a final decision. "If she's right," Frank said to Claire, nodding toward Jenny, "we don't have much time." He grabbed Claire's hand and began pulling her toward the horse. "We can talk when we're somewhere safe."

"Safe?" Claire finally managed to croak as she pulled against him. "Frank, what--"

"No time, Claire!" he roared. He looked into her eyes, and again Claire was struck with icy fear as something unknowable looked at her. Five years was a long time, and something in him was changed. This wasn't the composed and rational man she'd known as husband. Something sadder and more dangerous lurked beneath the surface. These weren't the eyes she'd gazed into during an impromptu courthouse wedding or that she'd imagined night after night in the war. Gone was the warmth and gentle gleam that had drawn her to him and that she'd kept alive in her mind as she fought to return to the stones all those years ago. Instead, she saw only a frenzied desperation that threatened to drown her if she didn't look away. "Fraser will be back soon. We must leave now if we're to go."

Claire managed to pull her hand from his grasp, but he was lunging back at her again. "I know you're scared. And I'm sorry it took me this long to find you and get you out," he said, grabbing both wrists in his hands again as she struggled. "But you need to trust that it's all right now. You'll be safe. I promise."

"Frank, stop it," Claire breathed. She felt heat prickling her eyes. He'd never held her this way, hard enough to bruise. That desperate shadow behind his eyes grew as he took in her fear. Fear directed at him, not whatever he thought he was saving her from. But did he realize that? "Stop it, you're hurting me."

He continued pulling her toward the horse, and Claire couldn't loosen his grasp. Jenny was there then, pulling at his hands, yelling in his face to let go. Fergus was shouting somewhere near, too, and she heard the high-pitched cries of the children standing in the doorway, helpless. Frank let go of one of Claire's wrists to shove Jenny into the dirt. A look of brief remorse flitted across his face as he wrapped his arms then around Claire's waist and lifted her, carrying her the last feet to the horse.

"It'll be all right, Claire," he crooned as she fought against him, struggling and gasping and crying. "We'll be home soon."

#

Jamie and Ian had been preparing to pause for their midday break and meal when wee Jamie and Rabbie came sprinting through the fields.

"Ye all right, lads?" Ian had called, leaning against his pitchfork.

"Man at the house," Jamie gasped out. "Mam said to run and fetch ye."

"Redcoats?" Jamie asked, already moving toward the horses.

"Nae, just a man."

Jamie looked to Ian and nodded. Possibly a lone traveler, someone looking for food or lodging on their way elsewhere. Still, it would be better if the women and children weren't alone at the house with him for long. "I'll go on ahead," Jamie said as he swung up onto Donas. "Make sure nothin's amiss."

"Aye," Ian said. "The lads and I won't be far behind ye."

Nodding, Jamie spurred Donas into a gallop heading back toward the house. As the archway came into view, he saw a horse standing beneath it, and the closer he got, he heard shouting. A weight fell in his stomach as Jenny's and Fergus's shouts reached his ears.

He spurred Donas even faster, sprinting toward the dooryard. Still fifty yards away, Jamie saw Claire struggling against the man, Jenny hanging on his arms as well and Fergus on the other arm. Jamie watched as the man pushed Jenny to the ground then wrapped his arms around Claire's waist and pulled her toward the horse.

"Claire!" he cried out, but none of them seemed to hear him. But he could hear Claire's breathless struggle to free herself. His vision turned red. The only clear point he could see was Claire. Jamie felt fury engulfing him, rage burning behind his eyes and blood boiling beneath his skin, the warrior fire that carried him through battle bursting forth as he urged Donas toward his struggling wife. He'd make it. He was almost there.

Ten yards from the arch, Jamie leapt off Donas's back before the beast could stop completely. He charged forward toward the man fighting to get Claire on the horse. Jamie pulled Claire from the man's grasp, setting her on her feet behind him. He didn't have time to keep her steady as he turned back and punched the man in the face with a crack. The stranger plummeted to the ground, a dull thud as he collapsed, and Jamie fell to his own knees and struck him three more times. Blood ran from the man's nose and his eyes were already swelling. Jamie heard his labored breathing, but the man on the ground didn't stir.

His fists shook as he forced himself to stop. Satisfied for the moment that the man couldn't move, he turned on his knees toward his wife.

"Claire?!" he called. She, too, sat on the ground a few feet away, her face white and shiny with sweat as she gasped for breath. Jenny was a few feet away, also speechless and breathing heavy. Fergus looked on, at a loss what to do next.

Jamie scooted to Claire, taking her in his arms. "Yer shaking so hard, Sassenach," he muttered, clasping her hands in his. He rubbed them, trying to warm her frozen fingers. "Yer all right. Yer safe." He pulled her head to his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to him. His heart wouldn't stop pounding. Or was it hers he was hearing?

From behind, the sound of Brianna's crying finally registered and he turned. She had come down the front steps and was walking toward her parents sitting in the dirt. "Mama," she was crying, her fingers hanging in her mouth. Cheeks red, fat tears resting on her eyelashes and streaming down her cheeks. Fresh fury overtook him as he realized his little dove had watched the whole struggle from the doorway, terrified.

"Hush now, _a leannan_ ," Jamie said, working to keep his voice in check as he reached out and gathered Brianna with his right arm, his left still clutching his wife to his chest. Claire, still silent, wrapped her arms around her daughter and held tight as Jamie enveloped them both in an embrace. He bowed his head, resting his forehead against his wife's and breathing deep. "Hush now," he whispered again. Breathing deep, he tried to cease the trembling that took over his body, hoping it might help allay Claire's, as well.

The sound of a horse slowing and coming up behind them made Jamie turn to look. As Ian approached them, Jenny stood from the ground behind him. Ian wrapped his arms around his wife, who still stood pale and shaking.

Jame put his fingers to Claire's chin and raised her face so she looked him in the eyes. It ripped his heart to see the tears streaming out, her sobs nothing but intermittent gasps. "What happened, Sassenach?"

"Randall," Jenny butted in, nodding to the man still lying on the ground behind them. "He's come back."

Jamie whipped his head around. In his fervor to save Claire and the agonizing ire that had inflamed his blood and vision, he hadn't even noticed the face of the man he'd pounded into the dirt. Looking now, he could see the thick eyebrows, the lines around his mouth that deepened when he was enjoying the fruits of his twisted labors. But the hair wasn't right, short and a touch too light...and he wasn't in uniform. And Randall was dead. They knew he was...

"Not Black Jack," Claire finally said, rubbing soothing circles on Brianna's back as her cries calmed. "Frank."

"Frank?" Jamie said. Claire only nodded.

"Who's Frank?" Ian asked, his arm still around Jenny.

"Aye," Jenny said. Her tone was sharp, her natural force coming back after the shock had worn off. Flyaway hairs stuck to her sweat-dampened face. "And why's he think he's yer husband?"

Jamie ignored Jenny, turning to Claire. "What happened?"

As she filled in the details of Frank's sudden appearance and his confused speech upon trying to drag her away, the adrenaline and anger that had propelled Jamie through the last five minutes was joined by white hot terror. The man had meant to take her away. And if he was that determined....

"Jenny, take Claire and the children inside," Jamie said, helping Claire to stand. "Ian, can ye fetch our dirks and bring them out?"

With the weapons ban following Culloden, it was too dangerous to carry his sword and dirk on his belt as he was accustomed, so he kept them well hidden in the house. Ian, nodding, pivoted around and set to the task.

Brianna clutched at her mother's skirts. Claire's hands were still shaking, so Jamie grasped them both in his and brought them to his lips, kissing her knuckles before bringing her face to his. "He'll no harm ye, Claire, and he'll no take ye," he whispered. He gazed for a moment into her still wide eyes, then nodded as he began to step away.

"No," Claire said, standing straight and grabbing his arm. "I need to stay."

"Sassenach --"

"I need to help take care of this." She stood straight, and the face she gave him -- eyes narrowed, lips tight and set in a line, shoulders pulled back -- indicated any dissuasion would be useless. She meant it. Jamie grunted in disapproval but nodded.

"Fine," he said. "Take everyone else inside. Fergus," he turned to the wide-eyed twelve-year-old, "take Brianna inside and stay wi' her." Fergus, still white-faced, opened his mouth to protest but Jamie cut him off. "She's scared, lad. She'll need ye close by her for comfort. Can ye do that for me?"

In reality, Jamie knew his own stomach writhed at the thought of gazing into Randall's face. Fergus, though hiding his own trepidation well, was but a child still. One who also suffered at Black Jack's hands and needn't be subjected to the confusion and turmoil that Jamie now faced himself.

"But, Milord, I must guard your weak side, non?" Fergus asked, his tone hurt.

"Aye," Jamie said with a twitch of his lips. He bent at the waist so as to look into Fergus's eyes and placed a hand on his shoulder. "And right now, lad, I need ye to care for yer sister, keep her safe and happy while I deal with...this." He grimaced, clearing his throat. "I need ye to comfort her, keep her safe while Milady and I canna be wi' her to do so ourselves. There's no one I'd trust more than you to do so."

The boy was cunning, quick. Jamie saw the flash in his eyes as Fergus recognized the assignment for the distraction it truly was. Whether he respected Jamie enough to obey regardless or appreciated the justification for avoiding Randall, he nodded. Eyes careful to avoid the archway in the yard, he took Brianna's hand from her mother's and guided her toward the home, muttering comforting words in French along the way.

Jenny, however, remained rooted to the spot.

"Jamie," Jenny persisted as Ian returned, two dirks in hand. "Tell me--"

"We will," Claire put in, resting her hand on Jenny's forearm. Claire took it as a positive sign that Jenny didn't immediately pull away. "But right now, I need you to go inside."

Jenny frowned, still displeased, but turned and walked toward the house, gathering wee Jamie and Rabbie with them.

Only Jamie, Claire, and Ian remained outside with the bloodied Frank Randall.

Jamie turned to Ian. "I'll need to question the man, and I need you to make sure if he tries anything, he doesna harm Claire," he cast a quick glance to his wife, face still resolute, "or make it to the house."

"Aye," Ian said, handing over Jamie's dirk and sheathing his own at his waist.

"And, Ian," Jamie continued, eyebrows furrowed. He exchanged a glance with Claire before going on, an understanding passing through them in the space of a heartbeat. "Ye may hear things that dinna make much sense to ye right now. But I promise ye, they will. Do ye trust us?"

"Ye ken I do, Jamie," Ian responded, kind eyes drawn together in concern, nearly affronted by the question. "I'm with ye, as I've always been."

Jamie smiled, clapping his brother-in-law on the arm. "As ye have," he responded, then braced himself to turn to Frank.

 _Not him_ , he told himself, forcing a deep breath in and out. _Focus on Claire._

That was the important thing. Frank wasn't Black Jack -- Claire had shared enough of her past life for him to know that. And right now, unraveling the how and why of his sudden appearance and ensuring everyone's safety was more important than the way his own skin crawled to look upon the man's face.

Frank was sitting up now, clutching his head. His nose and lips were still bleeding profusely. Jamie motioned for Ian and Claire to stay back as he grabbed the man under the arms and dragged him to his feet then led him to the barn on the outside of the archway. Claire and Ian trailed behind. Jamie noticed Ian seemed to take a bit more time with his leg than he normally would to keep Claire further away from the man, and he mentally thanked his friend for it.

Jamie led Frank to an empty horse stall, lowering him inside so he leaned against the side wall. He bound his hands with a spare strip of leather. Claire and Ian entered as he finished up, standing a few feet away but close enough to watch and hear.

For a few moments, all was silent. He tightened his grip on the dirk in his hand, fanning his fingers and rewrapping them in anticipation.

Time to begin.

"Ye said he looked like Black Jack, Sassenach," Jamie muttered, gazing with a mild degree of fascination and much more than mild hatred at the face he both recognized and didn't. The lighter tone to the hair, the blue eyes instead of brown, thinner lips even if they turned up in a very similar look of disgust. The freshly broken nose, too, was a touch shorter than his ancestor's and not nearly so straight. Jamie clung to these differences, reminding him that the man before him was naught to fear. "But ye did not do the resemblance justice. No wonder Jenny thought the devil had returned."

Frank looked up at him through swollen eyelids, the loathing evident even through the slits of his bloodied face.

"Now," Jamie said, pacing slowly before Frank with his hands clasped behind his back, still clutching the dirk, "out of respect for the care my wife has for ye, I'll no be killin' ye just yet. But ye will explain to me how ye came to be here and why ye were attacking my wife."

"Your wife," Frank spat. "She was married to me first."

"Well, in a strictly literal sense, that's no quite true," Jamie argued, and his mouth twitched up. He may have to deal with Frank in due course, but he would take his time with it. And he wasn't above petty teasing, either. "I believe my contract will predate yours by nearly two centuries, will it no?"

Jamie could feel the anger seething under Frank's skin. Good. He wanted the man angry, in pain. Jamie could maybe understand Frank's arrival if he'd come to them with respect, in peace. But the man came in violence, attack. Visions of Claire's struggle against her former husband ran through his mind. The terror in her face as this man dragged her away, his arms pressed too tightly around the mound that was _his_ child...no. Frank got no benefit of any doubt, no sympathy for his unenviable position in their twisted family tree.

"How'd ye come to find us?" Jamie asked simply, stopping before Frank.

"On a horse," Frank snapped. Jamie smiled but stood still, waiting. The second man took another moment to answer. "Your oaths to King George. You both signed it. I recognized Claire's signature. Seen it enough times." He spared a glance back toward Claire, and Jamie glanced that way too. Her arms were crossed over her chest, tense, but she seemed steady enough.

"I'd heard of the stones after Claire...disappeared," Frank continued, "but believed it to be just one of the myths so common to Scotland. Once I realized what I was looking at, I had to see if the story was true. Turned out, it was."

"Aye," Jamie said. "And so ye came through to find her? Simple enough. I'd do the same myself, were I in yer shoes," Jamie admitted. "Doesna explain why ye came in hostility rather than peace."

Frank shook his head. "I knew you had to be married," he elaborated, addressing Claire directly. Jamie felt Claire shift her weight but kept his eyes trained on Frank, who was shaking his head and looking back toward Jamie. "Five years in the 18th century, I knew she'd have to. To survive. If she had any choice in the matter at all, that is.

"I looked up you, as well, before coming back," he added. Frank's eye twitched and his lip curled up in distaste. "Arrested for murder, nearly hanged even. I found the stay of execution order but never a death certificate. Then suddenly there's a pardon and an oath to the king." Frank shook his head. "I knew I needed to bring Claire home, but I knew a man like that wouldn't ever let her go even if he could understand let alone believe the truth.

"So when I saw you in the yard," he went on, looking toward Claire now, who flinched, "I just knew we had to act quickly to get away before this...this brute returned."

Jamie darted forward to his knees, pinning Frank to the wall behind him, the point of his dirk placed at Frank's throat. "You came on _my_ land," Jamie breathed through his teeth, and Frank shrank back involuntarily, "threatened _my_ family, and tried to abduct _my_ wife. So let's be clear here, Mr. Randall" -- he put just a touch more pressure behind the blade, and a red spot of blood appeared -- "one of us is certainly a brute, aye, but it's no me."

"I don't care what you think of me, or your family," Frank said as Jamie pulled away, dirk still in hand. "I'm here for my wife. This is not where she belongs, as you clearly know. She was pulled here, forced into your bed, and has been trapped for years. It's time she returns where she's needed."

Before Jamie could respond, another voice sounded. "You're wrong, Frank." Jamie turned to Claire, who took a step toward them. Ian stood beside her and went to block her path forward. Claire, having none of it, edged around him and came to stand before Frank, at Jamie's side with her arms still crossed.

"I'm not a prisoner here, and I'm not trapped," Claire went on, looking at her first husband. "I chose to stay here."

Frank had no response to that, looking at Claire with confusion. Claire sighed, leaning against the stall wall opposite him.

"When I ended up here, I _was_ trapped," she said. "I fought for months trying to find a way back to the stones. But the Mackenzies, who'd taken me in, were suspicious of me, and if I wasn't quite prisoner, I wasn't allowed to move freely, either.

"And, yes, Jamie and I married because I needed to be a Scot, legally, to avoid capture by the British. By Jonathan Randall," she added, and Frank's eyebrows twitched but otherwise he showed no reaction. Claire sighed and shook her head. "But...Jamie and I felt something for each other even before we wed. I fought it. I truly did," Claire whispered, and Jamie could see her lip trembling. "I thought of you in the future, worrying about me, searching for me, not knowing where I'd gone, and I thought about the life we had been getting ready to begin, and I fought it. But once we wed, it was just...impossible to deny it anymore.

"I still tried to get back after the marriage," Claire went on, standing again to pace as she rubbed her hands together. "The rest of the men had business to take care of, business I couldn't be there for. So Jamie left me in a glade to wait. As I was walking, I saw the stones." Claire paused, remembering the day. Jamie remembered, too. The heart-stopping horror of learning the British had captured her, _Black Jack_ had captured her, and the panic to run and free her before she could come to harm.

"I was steps away from touching the stone," Claire continued. "Two more, and I'd have been there. But I was captured by Redcoats and taken to Black Jack Randall. Jamie and his men came that night and rescued me."

"Broke you out of jail, you mean," Frank scoffed.

"By the time I got there, he'd already beaten her and bound her and had her bent ower his desk," Jamie cut in sharply, gripping the dirk tighter. "So, no. Rescued."

A tense silence permeated the barn before Claire broke it again.

"We returned to Leoch as man and wife, and the feeling between us only kept growing. Maybe I should have kept fighting it, kept that fire tamped down and smothered." Jamie looked to her to see her gazing at him, a faint smile on her lips. "But I couldn't.

"It wasn't much longer before I told him who I was, when I was from. Told him everything. Somehow, he believed me," she breathed with an incredulous chuckle before her face darkened again as she looked to Frank. "And the _first thing_ he did was bring me back to Craig Na Dun and told me I needed to go home, that I belonged in my time, that I belonged with you." Her voice was rising in anger. Jamie could see it, the anger of Frank assaulting her, mishandling her, assuming her to be weak and trapped and waiting for rescue. "And I had to choose, and I chose to stay. No one kept me here. Nothing trapped me here. I knew where I belonged, and it was at Jamie's side.

"So I'm sorry, Frank, for your worry and your pain. I never wanted you to go through it. But I am not sorry for that decision I made. Our life together ended the day we each shipped out to war. I can't go back with you because my place is here. This is my life, one of my own making, and I'll not leave it."

No one spoke for several minutes as Frank took in all Claire had said. Jamie watched his face, but the man gave nothing away. Jamie had trouble reading him. Only the continued anger just beneath the surface.

"What'll you do with me, then?" Frank finally asked, addressing Jamie. "You'll kill me now?"

Jamie sheathed his dirk in his belt and crossed his arms. Even without looking to Claire, he knew that was out of the question, as much as he wished to end the matter here and now. "No, I'll no be killin' ye. But until I can have you safely seen off my land, ye'll remain here and bound. If," Jamie went on, menace entering his voice again, "I find ye in the house or around any member of my family, including Claire, I will kill ye.

"Ye both head on to the house now. I'll be there in a moment."

Claire opened her mouth to resist, but Jamie shot her a look and she closed it, nodding. As she and Ian shuffled toward the door and turned the corner, Jamie heard Ian mutter to Claire, "Well, between the two of ye, at the very least life willna ever be boring."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This became very Jamie-centric, but don't worry -- we'll hear a lot more from Claire, Fergus, and even Frank in coming chapters!


	4. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth about Claire finally comes out, and she faces guilt about past decisions.

Claire and Ian hadn't made it over the threshold before Jenny demanded an explanation, but Claire had insisted they wait for Jamie to join them. A tense quarter hour passed before he finally did and summoned them to the dining room. Jenny shepherded the children to Mrs. Crook then marched to the dining room, eyes narrowed, and sat beside Ian. As Claire ushered Fergus into the room, Jamie cast her skeptical glance. "He deserves to know who Frank is, and he can handle it," was her only response as she guided Fergus past her husband, who responded only with that Scottish hmph she'd come to appreciate so much she could almost smile, even amidst the upheaval. He shut the door and took his seat.

Once they were all seated, Jenny crossed her arms and looked to Claire expectantly. "So?" she asked. "Who's the bloke in the barn, then?"

Claire and Jamie exchanged a glance, an agreement passing between them that Claire would run this conversation.

"He wasn't lying," she started, looking back toward Jenny. "In his view, he is my husband."

"And in the view of God? And the law?" Jenny snapped.

"Legally, now, no, he's not," Claire answered. "As far as what God feels, that's anyone's guess."

Jenny's eyebrows knit together in confusion, but she kept quiet.

"I'm not...from this time," Claire said slowly, pausing. Jamie grasped her fingers beneath the table, giving her an encouraging squeeze but kept his eyes trained straight ahead. "I come from the future.

"I was born in the year 1918. And in 1937, yes, I married Frank. A war broke out two years later, a world war. I was a combat nurse; that's where I learned my healing from. Frank worked in intelligence. We rarely saw each other for the next six years. The war finally ended, and after years apart, Frank and I went on holiday to try to begin our lives anew. He was researching his family genealogy. His ancestor, Jonathan Randall, was a captain in the English army in this area," Claire explained, and Jenny's lip twitched.

"So on Samhain in 1945, I found myself at the top of Craig Na Dun, and I touched the stone in the center of the stone circle. When I awoke, I was on that same hill, but in 1743. I met Jamie that day."

"Ye came through the fairy hill, then?" Ian asked, his face guarded, but Claire could see some level of awe in his eyes.

"Yes, but I'm not a fairy. I don't know why I traveled or how, really. I didn't even realize I had for some time. But before long, I realized what had happened and had to find a way to accept it."

Claire then detailed much of what she told Frank about her growing feelings for Jamie, her fight to return to her own time, and her ultimate decision not to before relaying Frank's account of how and why he'd come.

Once Claire had come to the end of the story, Ian looked amazed, Fergus incredulous, and Jenny furious. She cast a look to her brother. "And ye believe this, brother?" she said, pointing to Claire. "Ye believe yer wife came to ye through a fairy hill?"

"Aye, I do," he said, ice in his own voice, his eyes bright with tension as he looked to his sister. "I didna at first. At least not fully. When I took her back, tried to make her return to Frank, I told her to touch the stone to see if what she said was true." He cast his eyes down, one fist balled on his knee while the other hand clasped Claire's even tighter. He searched for the words to describe that moment. "I dinna ken how to tell you what happened when she did. Her face went white, whiter than milk, and her eyes grew wide and glassy, like she was looking straight into hell, all fire and pain and terror. And she started to...fade, a bit. Just for a second.

"I pulled her away and she collapsed in my arms, pale and clammy and shivering. She stopped, after a time. I thought surely she'd died, thought I'd killed her trying to send her through. But when she opened her eyes and I saw she lived, I knew she spoke true then."

"The potatoes," Ian said. "Ye told us when ye first arrived to plant the potatoes and build the priest's hole." Claire nodded, and Ian went on, "because you kent what would come after the Risin'." She nodded again.

Jenny, though, was still not ready to lower her shackles. "If that's the case, then why'd you no tell us this when ye first came to Lallybroch? Ye should have trusted us."

"I wish I had," Claire said. "If I could again, I'd tell you both straight away. But I came here a stranger, an outlander with no great love or trust from you. A stranger who'd just been tried and nearly burned for witchcraft, no less," she added, and Jenny started. She must not have known. "Even Jamie was a bit of a stranger to you both then, having been gone so long, so much having happened in the time between. We were all on edge, all working to get to know each other."

Claire looked to Jamie, and he squeezed her hand again. "So we decided it was safer to keep the secret to as few people as possible. I never thought the not knowing would hurt anyone in any way."

Jenny face softened as she considered her sister-in-law. Not completely, but a touch. Finally, she said, "So what do we do with him out there, then? He canna just be left wanderin' about, can he?"

"Murtagh should be back from Edinburgh tomorrow or the day after," Jamie said. "We will take Frank to the stones and put him through and out of our lives. It's the fairest solution for everyone involved."

Silence fell on the room, all eyes trained on Claire. She looked at the tabletop and squeezed Jamie's fingers, receiving a reassuring squeeze in return.

"Right," Jenny said, standing and clapping her hands together. "Well, dinner willna prepare itself now, will it?" She departed the room.

Claire felt the blood rush to her cheeks as she watched Jenny depart. Ian gave Claire a sympathetic nod. "Give the lass time to adjust. She'll come 'round."

Claire smiled and nodded, and Ian exited the room, closing the door. She glanced to Fergus, sitting a few seats down. The boy's eyes were squinted as though deep in thought, but he said nothing.

"How are you, Fergus?" she asked. Claire stood and walked to take the chair next to Fergus but kept her hands to herself. Just as she understood what it must have been for Jamie to look into Frank's face and see the man who'd haunted his nightmares, she knew Fergus must feel similarly displaced. But much like her husband, Fergus was a master at controlling his face.

He looked to her then, his eyes still so childlike. " _Tres bien_ , Milady," he answered with a shadow of a smile. "'Tis only a shock, you know. Milord always said you were a rarity. A bit of an understatement, _non_?"

Fergus exhaled a weak laugh, and Claire followed suit. A brave front from a brave lad. When he'd had time to absorb everything that had happened today, she'd try again. She sighed and smiled wider then reached out to rest her hand on his cheek. His eyes softened and his shoulders relaxed.

Jamie came to hover over the both of them. "Why don't ye give us a moment, lad?" Jamie said, eyes on Claire. Fergus hurried to acquiesce, closing the door on his way from the room as Jamie took his seat.

She drew close to Jamie then, pressing her forehead to his as they breathed deep. He placed his hand on her neck beneath her curls, holding her to him as they breathed steadily, in and out, as one. She felt his fingers stroking the sensitive skin there and tried to let the touch soothe her mind.

"All will be well, _mo nighean donn_ ," Jamie whispered, his fingers massaging her neck. His other hand pushed up the edge of her sleeve to see her wrists, which were already darkening with the bruises from where Frank had tried to pull her from the yard. "He will no harm ye, Sassenach. I swear it."

Claire's lip trembled, but she fought to keep the tears from spilling over. He somehow sensed it anyway and pulled her to his shoulder, edging his chair closer and wrapping his arms around her. He whispered Gaelic into her ear as he stroked her hair, rocking her back and forth as she sobbed.

"I'm sorry," she finally said, pulling away and drying her eyes. "I don't know what's come over me."

"Sassenach," Jamie replied, his tone a step above exasperated. "Yer wi' child, for the one thing. I've seen ye get teary ower the candle burning too low," he teased, grinning as he placed a protective hand over her womb. He grew serious again as he continued. "But for the other, a man ye never expected to see again, who ye cared for a great deal and whose pain caused you pain, just returned to yer life, tried to drag you away from yer family. Secrets ye've kept close to yer heart for years finally had to be told. It's enough to bring anyone to tears, _mo nighean donn_."

She dried fresh tears from her cheek, shaking her head. "It's not just that. Something about him, his...being. It's different." Jamie gave her a puzzled look, and she grabbed his hands with hers. His thumb caressed her knuckles as she sought the words. "The man I knew was calm, measured, rational, gentle. The Frank out there was none of those things." She looked into Jamie's eyes, imploring him to understand her, trying to transmit to him the image she had held on to of Frank from before and the drastic difference to the man in the barn.

"I broke him, Jamie," she whispered and squeezed her eyes shut again to fight against another wave of weeping.

"Hush, Sassenach. Ye did no such thing."

"I should have left something for him, some sign in history that I was safe and happy and loved, that I wanted him to move on and feel that way with someone else in the future."

"Ye could not know he'd have ever found it," he replied. "There was naught to be done. 'Tis an ugly truth, and I dinna envy his position, I'll say that for him. But the two of ye were worlds apart. Ye couldna've told him."

"I could have tried," she said, her voice biting. The longer she sat there, the angrier she became at herself. "Christ, I left my husband to believe I'd been murdered or abandoned him with no goodbye, no word explaining anything. I should have thought more of him, done whatever I could to try to spare him some of the worry."

"Ye thought of him plenty," Jamie said, and his own voice held an edge, even as she heard how desperately he worked to keep it at bay. "Have ye forgotten when ye arrived here, the weeks before and after we wed when I kent ye were thinking of him, worried or mourning who I thought was yer dead husband as you kept yourself distant from me, even as we shared all else? And how you were captured tryin' to return to him? Or even the promise ye had me make in Paris to make sure he'd come to be born?"

Claire glared at him. Pain she'd stored away in her heart threatened to overtake her, and she subconsciously placed a hand on her growing belly. Yes, she remembered that promise: a year for Black Jack Randall to live so that he may father Frank's ancestor, assuring Frank's own existence. A promise which, after the monster had attacked Fergus, Jamie had been obliged to break. The ensuing duel had sent Jamie to the Bastille, dragged away as he watched a pregnant Claire collapse in a pool of blood that marked the death of their first child.

"No, I haven't," Claire responded. "But --"

"But nothin'," Jamie said, standing to pace. Hands running through his hair, curls standing on end, he strode back and forth with a look of barely contained frustration. Claire had to remind herself just what Frank's appearance meant to Jamie to keep her own retaliatory indignation in check.

"Yer no a fairy. Ye canna use magic to end pain or to communicate wi' people too far beyond yer grasp. Yer only a person, Claire, and ye couldna speak wi' him any more than ye could touch the sun. And ye need not feel guilt ower it, either."

He sighed as he sat again, taking her hands. Claire appreciated the gesture; just his touch, the warmth of his fingertips sent soothing vibrations through her body, even as she continued to fight against waves of despondency.

"Ye didna break yon man, Sassenach. If he is broken to a point where he can hurt ye or abandon what makes him himself, then that's no but his own doin'. Maybe it's no right to cast stones at a man going through what is truly my own worst nightmare: the loss of you." The corners of his lips twitched up as he brushed a stray curl behind her ear. Jamie placed his hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing against her temple. "But ye canna control the actions or character of another. I ken the thought of causin' anyone pain sends a knife through yer heart, but ye've done yer best with an impossible problem and no guidance beyond yer own wits to fight through it."

Jamie kissed her forehead then and pulled her in for another embrace, holding her to his chest as the last of her sorrows fell away.

Frank had always been a subject best avoided between them, beyond the basics. But Jamie's words of comfort held too much surety, too practiced a flow. He'd thought about this, even if they rarely spoke of it between them. How often must he have considered her plight to so clearly understand the turmoil that plagued her for so long. How many times had her husband masked thoughts of her unlikely journey and the man she left behind so he could truly understand her down to her core?

The realization brought fresh tears to her eyes as affection overwhelmed her.

"I love you, Jamie," she whispered, still wrapped in his arms, before they rose and made for the door.

Jamie smiled, pressing his lips to her hair. "Ah, Sassenach, ye ken if my last words are no 'I love ye,'" he paused, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose, "it's because I didna have time."


	5. Bait and Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the journey back to the stones, Frank muses on what he's lost while Jamie convinces himself the danger is past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I originally said I'd post once a week? Oh, naive child I was! And here we are five chapters later in as many days. But it's truly because of how supportive and amazing all of you have been. I was so terrified to post any of this, longstanding anxieties and insecurities haunting me that unleashing my writing to the world was the worst idea. I cannot express to you how much all your kind words and encouragement and excitement for this story means to me. For the first time in so long, I've been beyond excited to keep working on my writing and to share it with you all. 
> 
> So thank you. It's been the best birthday present ever. And I hope you continue to enjoy.

**April 16, 1749**

They were less than an hour away from Craig Na Dun, and Jamie felt a simultaneous sense of unease and anticipation. He'd be more than ready for Frank to fade through the stones and away from him and Claire for good, but the stones themselves made Jamie nervous. Though he heard not the buzzing that Claire described and had touched the offending stone himself with no unnatural result, it still felt dangerous to him, the knowledge that it had the power to take away his entire world a constant shadow in the back of his mind.

A day after Frank's unwelcome appearance at Lallybroch, Murtagh had galloped home from Edinburgh. They made hasty greetings with him before filling him in on the previous day's excitement and their plan to return Frank to the stones and ensure he passed through. The three had ridden the next dawn, bound for the hill.

Jamie had been loathe to leave Claire, sleeping soundly and beautiful as he'd ever seen her, but he'd known this was important for all of them. She'd tried to insist upon joining them, but even if she hadn't been pregnant, he wouldn't have allowed it. Jamie didn't trust Frank. The evil resemblance notwithstanding, Claire still bore the blueish marks on her wrists and arms. She hadn't said it outright in the family gathering, but Jamie knew Frank scared her. Scared her enough that when he'd refused to let her out to the barn to treat his injuries, she'd relented with only minor pushback. And even if Jamie would have allowed Frank within fifty feet of Claire, there was still the dangers of the stones to consider.

No, she could not come.

Now, having nearly reached their destination, Jamie spurred his horse to ride faster.

The journey had been rough and largely silent. Frank hadn't spoken much except for the occasional call to take a water or relief break from riding, and Murtagh had likewise been tightlipped. The silence didn't bother Jamie. He had nothing more to say to Frank Randall than had been said; he'd just as soon avoid extraneous unpleasantries.

Golden rays shot across the sky as afternoon sun waned when they finally reached the bottom of the hill. All three men dismounted and began the trek upwards. As they drew nearer, Jamie sensed hesitancy in Frank.

"Can you...hear them, then?" Jamie asked, turning toward the man with his hand on his dirk.

Frank paused, lips pressed tightly together, eyes locked on the center stone. "Yes," he replied at last.

"Good," Murtagh joined, grabbing Frank by the bicep and dragging him the rest of the way up the hill. "Let's get on wi' it, then," he said gruffly. He marched Frank to stand before the grand stone and released him, standing back as though expecting an explosion. Frank made no move to go forward, and Jamie put his hand on his dirk.

"Well," Frank said, turning, "I suppose this is goodbye, then."

"Aye," Jamie says. He cleared his throat before adding, "I ken Claire would wish ye well, back in yer own time. She never wished to cause you harm or worry, ye ken. Nor did I." He swallowed, looking to the ground. The man still unsettled Jamie, but he hoped to send him home on the best terms they were able. For all he truly despised the man, he had drawn the proverbial short end of the stick all around, and for that he'd have Jamie's pity.

Frank nodded, eyes dark, as though he barely heard. He still didn't go toward the stone, though, glancing at the other two men as though asking for privacy.

"No' a chance, lad," Murtagh barked before Jamie could speak. "We'll bear witness to yer journey home. Get to it, then."

A muscle twitched in Frank's temple and his lip curled up, almost snarl-like. But finally, he turned and placed his hand on the granite. Before Jamie could blink, the man disintegrated before his eyes and was gone.

"Christ," he breathed. He'd seen the beginnings of the process with Claire long before, but to watch a man, flesh and bone, just fade out of existence was unnerving. Even Murtagh looked pale beneath his bushy beard. He and Jamie exchanged a glance. "We should camp the night," Murtagh said, already pacing the stones that formed the circle's perimeter. "Make sure he's truly gone."

"Aye," Jamie said. The light was nearly gone now, anyway. Not wise to begin riding for home.

There was an abandoned croft at the bottom of the hill, but the men wordlessly agreed they needed to be close enough to the cursed stone to hear or see if the man somehow came back through. They may miss it at the bottom. So Murtagh coaxed a fire into life while Jamie tied the horses somewhere safe. Murtagh managed to catch a rabbit while Jamie stoked the fire and brought in their camp supplies from the horses, settling just outside the outermost stone. They cooked and ate in silence, shadows dancing on the stones giving Jamie an ominous feeling in his gut. Neither did they look at each other, both caught up in what they had witnessed not quite an hour hence.

"Ye ken," Murtagh started at last, nibbling on a piece of meat, "when ye told me what Claire was back in France, a part of me wasna quite convinced. I believed ye well enough," he quickly amended, "understood you spoke a truth. But 'twas such a leap to think of that wee lassie falling though two centuries to find ye."

Jamie smiled at that. Jenny had said something similar: that she'd come through the stones _for him_. It was easy to feel that way. The fire of her touch, the weight of her gaze on his soul, the very essence of her touch and scent and taste felt like she'd been handmade specifically for him. Handmade for him, just born into the wrong time -- or maybe not wrong. Maybe it was her time spent in the future that gave her the ferocity and strength he so cherished within her. So few women of his time possessed that fire borne from confidence and sheer willpower, a surety of self that made her his true partner where so many others fell short. And once she'd been molded just for him, God had seen fit to unite them at last.

"I understand," Jamie responded, taking a swig of ale from the canteen. "'Tis a difficult tale to believe, even after all the proof she's offered time and again."

They sat in silence a little longer.

"Ye don't suppose he'll actually return, do ye?" Murtagh asked, causing Jamie to stop in his motion as he was taking another sip. "If he could slip through once, could he..."

"Nah," Jamie retorted, finishing his sip. His answer carried more certainty than his heart, which had beat faster at Murtagh's suggestion. "He understands the way of it now, I reckon. 'Twas the not knowin' that brought him here, not knowin' she was safe and happy. He may no have been in his right heid when he arrived, but I understand the motives that drove him here." He looked to his godfather, who watched him with eyes wary, mouth set too harshly. Jamie shook his head again, speaking to convince himself. "No, he'll no be comin' back."

"And if he did?" Murtagh insisted. "What'll ye do then?"

Jaw clenched, Jamie drained the canteen. "What I need to."

#

The familiar agony of the stones took over Frank's consciousness, tearing him inside out before he landed with a groan on the grass. He regained his bearings and opened his eyes. It was full night now, the stars twinkling at him through the trees above him.

Frank sat up, shaky, and slowly reached up to clutch his pounding head. Had it been worse this time through?

The pain of travel helped to dull the sensation of loss that ate away at him. Claire was truly lost to him now, just as distant as she'd been all those years he'd ached for her. As he regained some measure of equilibrium, he berated himself for the lack of courage that had kept him from releasing her as he'd planned, the foolhardiness that had caused him to leap in with no plan and ended with him coming home alone. His own face still bore the marks of Fraser's attack, so much that he still winced when he'd rinsed his face in the streams along the way or had taken too big a gulp of water on the road.

_How could he have left her to a man like that?_

_You didn't have a choice,_ he told himself for the umpteenth time. _You would have died had you tried anything else._

_And well you should have in order to bring her back home._

_Being dead helps no one, Frank._

_Neither does being back in the future with Claire still trapped in the past._

_She told you to go, you bastard! You bloody cuckold, she told you she wanted you to go._

_And you believed her? The shock of everything...who knows if that's what she truly wanted?_

_She made her choice._

_Has he ever done to her face what he did to yours? And you left her there._

The back-and-forth in his mind had repeated ad infinitum for nearly their entire trip to the stones. When not berating himself for his weakness and cowardice in leaving Claire behind, his idiocy for not concocting a better plan, he'd relived his conversation with Fraser in the barn after the man had dismissed -- _dismissed_ , as though he owned her! -- Claire to the house.

_Claire and the one-legged man left the barn, his wife sparing him a lingering glance as she departed, and his heart soared at the look. The feeling quickly died in his chest as Fraser checked the knots of the ropes at his wrist._

_They coexisted in silence for some seconds, seconds where images from the last several minutes danced in his mind: the frozen look of shock on Claire's face, not nearly as ecstatic as what he'd imagined; the dark-haired woman who gazed at him as though she knew him, with a fear he didn't fully understand; Claire's struggle against him as he tried to flee with her; the solid feeling of her stomach, so different than he remembered, when he'd wrapped his arms around her first in embrace, then in restraint; Fraser's arms surrounding his wife, whispering in her ear words Frank couldn't understand even if he could hear them; the little girl with the curly red hair calling her "mama." Images, memories assaulted his mind and heart leading to one conclusion._

_Whether she'd come here willingly or not, she had a life here. Some kind of family. There were more strings connecting her to the past than he'd anticipated._

_But that look when she'd left the barn...that last glance was full of sorrow, pain, the eyes shiny with tears. Perhaps she regretted that choice to stay behind more than she let on? Could she truly speak her mind with the red beast as her husband? Even if what she said was true about him taking her to the stones, would he ever give her a second chance if she asked?_

_"Tell me, then, truly," Fraser said, jolting Frank from the barrage of thoughts zooming through his mind, "why were ye rough wi' her?"_

_Frank looked at him, lips sealed, eyes resolute. Fraser continued. "Ye ken I understand why ye had to come, why ye had to look for her. She told me of ye, told me you were kind, gentle. She never liked how things had to be left wi' ye, so I canna puzzle out why ye'd treat her so now."_

_Finished, Fraser waited this time, not filling the cold silence with any further explanation. He simply waited for Frank to respond. But to what end? What was he looking for? Because he was undoubtedly weighing every word that came from Frank's mouth._

_"I honestly don't know," Frank finally responded. "I saw her there, I heard you weren't near, and I reacted." He paused, shaking his head and leaning back against the wall behind him. "I've thought of nothing for five years except what happened to Claire. Was she hurt? Was she dead? Did she betray the life we'd been looking forward to, or was she taken from me?_

_"I thought I'd been prepared to see her there, but there's no way I could have prepared, could have known what it was to see her. Once she was there, it confirmed to me at least she hadn't left me, not on purpose. It was...the best, most intense feeling of relief I've ever felt. She was there, real and alive before me. And she'd gone because of something that had happened to her, not something she'd chosen. An answer to a question that had never left my mind for so many years." Frank cleared his throat and his cheeks burned, embarrassed at how much spilled out of him. But Fraser remained silent; he hadn't yet answered the question._

_"There was relief but also panic because now I had to succeed in my plan. And all I could think was that we had to leave before you came back," Frank spat to him, but Fraser didn't flinch. "I hadn't come up with any plan to deal with you. I thought it better, in the moment, to just run."_

_Fraser nodded, pacing again before him, his fingers tapping the handle of the knife in his belt. "But ye understand now how it is, then?" he asked, looking to meet Frank's eyes. "And why she canna go wi' ye? Why she willna?"_

_Swallowing hard, Frank didn't move. His eyes bore into the Scot's with defiance, loathing. Didn't nod, didn't shake his head. Only stared down this red-headed giant and thought about that last look Claire had spared for him as she left. Clung to it._

_Maybe she was still his. And if that were true, then he couldn't honestly answer the man._

_As Frank remained silent, a shift came over Fraser's face as though he'd heard Frank's thoughts. Frank couldn't have described specifically what, but the eyes seemed more shadowed, fiercer. Anger...no,_ danger _lurked there. And he began to understand better why Claire couldn't have run, not without knowing she'd be able to outrun._

_"Frank Randall," Fraser said, his voice taking on the same intimidating tone his face had, "I canna allow ye to remain here while I believe you a threat to my family. So let me be plain." He bent and balanced on the balls of his feet with his hands clasped before him, elbows resting on his knees, to look Frank directly in the eyes. "Claire married me by arrangement, aye, but we are of the same soul, she and I. She is blood of my blood, and I am bone of her bone. She's borne two of my children and carries another. Ye canna ken how we've held the other's soul inside our bare hands, repaired each other in ways no other human e'er will. We have each risked our lives and liberty to save the other, have shared in joy and sorrow you canna even begin to imagine._

_"I gave her a fair choice, and she chose. And if tomorrow she were to tell me she chooses differently, I'd cut my own heart out to abide by her wishes." The man clenched his jaw involuntarily at the thought, but it didn't instill any sympathy in his heart for the wife-stealer._

_"So I need yer word as a man of honor -- which I trust ye to be, as Claire would expect no less from any man she'd ever loved, and I ken she loved ye once -- that ye will abide by the rules I've set."_

_"And if I cannot?" Frank countered._

_The corner of the Scot's mouth twitched. "Well, let's just say I've spent too many hours of my life imagining the vengeance I'd take on the man with whom ye share a face. I ken yer no him, but seein' as I couldna end the bastard myself, I think I could settle just fine for ye, if it was necessary to protect what's mine."_

_Fraser stood again, waiting for Frank's terse nod, which he gave after several more silent minutes. Fraser nodded back, crossing his arms._

_"Good," he said. "I'll have one of the lads bring ye a plate, then, and some water to clean yourself up with. We'll set out as soon as we can after my kinsman arrives." And with that, he'd swept from the barn._

_What's his,_ Frank thought with disgust _. What's his is only what he took from me._

What he couldn't save. Did he forfeit any right to Claire by giving up so easily? Was he truly unworthy of her, then? Claire never came to speak with him again before they'd departed the estate. Was seeing him too painful, the memory of the life that had died in the violence that was the passage through time? Or did she fear Fraser's reaction if she couldn't hide her desire to go with him?

With regret, he admitted that he'd now never know.

Frank finally stood, takinganother moment to balance himself on his feet. He felt his way down the hill, looking for the road, but he never found it. It looked much the same as it had the last time he'd traveled down it, having just arrived in the 18th century.

He felt his heart in his throat. Had it not worked? No, it must have. Fraser and his unpleasant cohort hadn't been on the hill. Surely they would have ensured he made it through before departing?

Confused, he made his way slowly through the vicinity, feeling carefully in the dark. Just outside the stone circle, he saw remnants of a camp fire, cold but not terribly old.

Something wasn't right. He'd traveled but not back to his time. Frank couldn't sleep, so he walked on through the dark hours. By early morning, he'd arrived in Inverness, which looked much the same as it had during his winter sojourn there.

"Can't have gone far, then," he mused to himself before making his way toward the tavern. He pushed his way in. Being so early, not many patrons filled the space, but he gasped to see the owner, his friend Rabbie McGillivray, behind the bar.

"Mr. Randall!" the man gasped, coming round to greet him. "My goodness, it's good to see ye, friend. Any luck findin' that lass o' yers, then?"

Frank shook his head. He was lightheaded from some combination of lack of food and sleep as well as the shock of realizing he still hadn't made it home.

Of realizing he may have a chance yet to free Claire.

"Yes," he answered softly, sitting in a chair to his left. Rabbie sat across from him, awaiting further details. "She's under guard by a right devil. I wasn't able to...I couldn't..."

"Aye, I ken what ye mean," Rabbie said, gesturing to his face with a sympathetic wince. "He did a right number on yer face there. Devil he may be, but someone did make sure to return the horse, at least." The man chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "So, what do ye plan on doing now then?"

"I'm not sure," Frank muttered in reply, hanging his head. God, he was so tired.

"Forgive me," Frank said suddenly sitting up. "In all the chaos, I've lost track. What's today's date?"

"April 24, lad," Rabbie responded as he stood, going back to his work behind the bar. "Yer room's still empty, if ye need to catch a rest before ye make yer next move, then."

Frank nodded. He grabbed a half-empty bottle of something before floating toward the stairs and ascending without a word. Barely a week. Only a week in the future.

There was still hope. And this time, he'd not fail Claire. Or himself. This time, he'd have her or he'd die.


	6. Returns and Reconnections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire has important conversations with both Jamie and Jenny.

**April 19, 1749**

Claire felt warm beneath the quilt but restless, struggling to maintain a deep sleep. She'd finally fallen into a dreamless slumber when a click behind her jarred her awake.

"I'm sorry, lass," Jamie whispered, and she breathed a sigh of relief, turning to face him as he came into the room. The smile that lit his face when their eyes met warmed her heart. He began undressing, his face tired but beaming.

"What time is it?" she asked, voice croaky from sleep.

"Late," he responded, finally climbing beneath the quilts. Claire turned back around so Jamie was behind her to wrap his arms around her middle. One hand splayed across her growing bump, pulling her body close to his. "By sunset, we were so close to Lallybroch, and I just couldna bear another night without ye in my arms. I needed to hold ye, assure myself yer safe and well. Ye and the bairn both."

He kissed her shoulder then, and Claire shivered at the sensation. His hand traveled from her womb over to her hips and along her sides, electricity shooting from his touch, his fingers drinking her in.

"I've missed you," she whispered, pulling his other arm around her waist.

"Oh, Sassenach, I havena stopped cravin' ye since I kissed ye goodbye," he breathed, his lips traveling to her neck. "I near rode Donas to death to make it home to ye. Got back a day sooner than it took us to get there, but it was worth it to touch ye now."

Claire rolled to her back, the better to see his face. The look of longing and love in his eyes made her breath catch in her chest. Even in the low light, his eyes shone and his smile melted her. She wanted -- _needed_ \-- nothing more in that moment than to feel as close to him as possible.

Reading her mind, Jamie bent to kiss her, his lips parting hers and his tongue teasing, dancing with hers. Claire reached up and twined her fingers in his curls, holding him above her. He pulled away an inch, his breath hot and ragged. "I need ye, _mo nighean donn_ ," he gasped. Goosebumps broke out as his fingertips skimmed her collarbone.

"Yes," she whispered back before bringing his lips back to meet hers.

Hunger and desire emanated from him like heat off a sidewalk or steam from a boiling pot. His hands traveled her body, grasping, pulling her hard against him. Jamie's need fed her own until she could hardly stand the ache she felt for him, her body hot and her legs quivering with anticipation.

"Jamie," she whispered. "Please."

With a satisfied groan, he obliged, and they sighed with synchronized ecstasy. They moved together, her hands clasping him to her as his roamed her body. Claire's lips found his, then kissed his shoulders, his neck, nibbled his earlobe as their bodies quickened their pace. Heat rose in her chest as she felt herself approaching her crescendo. She heard Jamie's heartbeat ticking in her ear. He was close too. Waiting for her.

A second after moaning her release, Jamie succumbed as well. She squeezed one final time and he gasped before collapsing to the side of her. As his breathing slowed, he gathered Claire into his chest, where she closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his throat. She felt him kiss the crown of her head and stroke her hair.

"It's good to have you home, Jamie," Claire whispered.

She felt him chuckle. "'Tis good to be home, blood of my blood."

"Bone of my bone," she recited, turning her face toward him. After one last tender kiss, they clutched each other close and settled in for the first decent night's sleep either had had in days.

#

**April 20, 1749**

Waking up in Jamie's arms after a full week without him made Claire hum with satisfaction as she pulled his arms tighter around her. She felt him burrow his face deeper in her curls, but he remained silent; he must not have truly wakened yet. And no wonder -- he must be exhausted.

The mission must have gone as planned or he wouldn't have returned in such good spirits, Claire mused. And her heart felt somewhat lighter. She'd said her piece, and Frank knew the truth. Perhaps now he could create a life of true meaning just as she had. Perhaps he'd find his other half the way she'd found Jamie.

More rays of sun shone through the window, and Jamie's breathing changed subtly behind her.

"Morning," she whispered, turning to glance at him from the corner of her eye with a pleased smirk.

"Morning to ye, Sassenach," he answered with fatigue in his voice. He squinted toward the window. "Och, how late did we sleep?" he asked though made no motion to leave the bed.

"Late?" Claire said. She turned fully to look into his eyes, trailing her fingertips along his jawline. "The sun is just barely breaking over the horizon. You can't have gotten more than a few hours' sleep. You should stay, rest."

A lazy smile danced upon his lips as his eyelids fluttered closed. "Should, perhaps. Can, probably not." He sighed and opened his eyes again, pools of ice blue piercing her with intensity. "No matter. 'Twas worth it to wake up next to ye and the bairn."

Claire smiled and raised her left hand to glide her fingers through his vibrant curls, cherishing the feel of them over her skin. As she did so, she paused.

He noticed, eyebrows twitching. "What is it, Sassenach?" he asked.

Bringing her hand down before her, she grasped the gold band on her finger, twirling it for a moment before twisting it off. "Here," she said, handing it over to Jamie.

Sitting up to lean against the headboard, he looked at the ring in her palm but didn't reach to take or even touch it. His eyes held a wary, puzzled look.

"Ye've worn that ring since I've known you," he stated slowly. "Ye needn't take it off just 'cause of everything that happened here." Pausing, he stroked her own hair just as she had been doing previously. A look of contentment took over his features as he released a sigh. "I ken there's still a small piece of ye that cares for him, always will. Yer a loyal woman, _mo chridhe,_ and I wouldna change that about you for the world and a half."

Claire smiled, sitting up beside him and offering the ring to him again. "I know all that," she said with a sigh of her own as she formed her words. "I kept it on because...I wanted to acknowledge the role he played in my life. Not only as my husband, but as the reason I even came to Scotland and, ultimately, to you." She gazed into her husband's eyes, continuing,

"But largely, I wanted to make sure I never forgot about him. I chose not to go back to him and would choose it again every day of my life," Claire added. "But to forget him, to let him slip from my mind and my heart completely, would be to disrespect what we had once. And I didn't want to belittle in my own mind what I'm sure was a great deal of pain that I caused him."

"Claire--"

"It's not a matter of guilt this time," she cut Jamie off, placing her free hand on his arm. "Only of respect, like a war memorial to remember the fallen." Glancing down, she twirled her first wedding band in her fingers, feeling the cool smoothness. "I wanted to keep it on as a way to always recognize and respect his feelings, his pain and the struggle he must have gone through to forge a new life when I didn't return to him. And every so often, I'd look down and see it on my hand, and I'd say two prayers."

"Two?" Jamie asked, letting his arm pull Claire closer into his chest as she continued on with her speech.

"Yes, two," she answered. "One for Frank, that his life would have the same sort of fulfillment I'd found. And one of thanks for you," she looked up to him, her whisky eyes boring into his blue. "That the hand of God or whatever force brought me here brought me straight to you, gave us to each other, gave us Fergus and Faith and Brianna and Baby Fraser here." She massaged her stomach with affection.

Jamie smiled, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. "So why take it off now, then, _mo nighean donn_?"

Claire looked back up to Jamie. "Because the answers that I never believed he'd have, he got. I've told him my truth, and I can still pray he finds joy with someone in his time. But I don't feel like I need the token to do so anymore."

Reaching out once again, she handed the ring to Jamie. "I've been yours for so long, James Fraser," she whispered. "Completely. This ring never changed that. But now, I'm ready to end the vigil for Frank's pain and his future and lift that burden from my soul."

Silence fell between them as he still didn't reach for the ring. Claire could see thoughts brewing in his mind as sure as the horses in the stables could sense a clap of thunder before it came.

"And what would ye have me do wi' it, then?" he asked, stroking her cheek.

She shrugged. "Sell it, perhaps. It may be able to help Lallybroch." Pausing for a moment, she added, "All I know is it felt wrong to take it off before, but now it finally feels right. And yours is the only ring I want to wear from today onwards."

A smile twitched on his lips, and unshed tears made his eyes shine. After their wedding, Jamie had never once questioned her about the gold band she never took off, never asked why she needed to wear it or guilted her for sporting two wedding rings. Even as others raised their eyebrows or questioned the oddity of displaying both husbands' rings simultaneously, he never once indicated that doing so was any stranger to him than her wearing a blue dress versus a gray one. He accepted it as he accepted her.

In consequence, she had rarely considered whether her doing so plagued his mind. To her, the choices and sacrifices she had made for him -- both in rejecting her past life and in the times she'd risked all for him, as he had for her -- spoke far louder of her devotion to Jamie than her silent insistence on keeping Frank's ring.

Had this tiny ring, only a few ounces in her hand, weighed heavily upon his spirit? He'd never said or shown so. But as he finally reached and plucked it from her palm with care, Claire wondered how often he'd seen the flash of gold on her hand and felt bitterness or resignation or envy. She wondered how many times he'd had to quash those feelings so as not to pressure her into removing the ring before she truly wanted to. The thought didn't bring her guilt like she thought it might; instead, the incredible lightness behind his eyes brought her joy.

"I ken ye speak true, Sassenach," he said, clutching the ring tight in his fist, "that ye've been mine and that this ne'er took away from that. But..." He broke into a huge smile that squeezed at her heart as he tightened his grip on her shoulders. "But I canna deny 'tis a blessing and a relief to hear ye say it and to know ye are truly unburdened, yer mind and heart finally free."

Claire repositioned herself to her knees before him, her hands on his face as she kissed him gently. "I am yours, and you are mine, always," she said.

"Aye," he responded in a whisper, eyes closed. Silent tears fell from beneath his eyelashes, and he grinned. "For always, _mo chridhe."_

#

They dressed and joined the rest of the rousing household not long after. Jamie and Brianna reunited over parritch with shrieks of joy and many twirls and kisses. Claire's cheeks ached with smiling as father and daughter clung to each other huddled together over their breakfast.

Ian sat with his own bowl, as well, catching Jamie up on what needed tending since his absence. And so only a few minutes later, Jamie kissed each Claire and Brianna, then the men made for the study.

Jenny entered the kitchen a few moments later, a terse nod her only greeting as she and Mrs. Crook got to work preparing to make a batch of bannocks. She'd been distant, almost cold since learning about Claire's true background. Even after Jamie and Murtagh left with Frank, the source of all their tension, Jenny's aloofness around Claire never waned. Claire thought giving her time to adjust to the reality would help, but in true Fraser style, Jenny didn't seem to be budging.

"Jenny," Claire said, standing and setting Bree on her feet. The younger took off without hesitation, jogging toward where her cousins were situated in front of the hearth. "I was hoping to go check the snares today. Would you want to come?" After Culloden, as food became more scarce and, therefore, even more precious, bringing in as much game as they could manage became critical, and Claire insisted on learning how. Though no mean shot with a rifle, she was not very skilled as a hunter. So Jamie had taught her as well as wee Jamie, Rabbie, and Fergus how to set snares throughout the property around Lallybroch.

The boys usually checked a few times a week themselves, just as often coming back with a couple squirrels or a rabbit as empty-handed; however, Claire knew where they were set up, and she needed the time with Jenny and the quiet away from the house.

Her good sister looked at her, dark eyes calculating, before nodding. "Aye," she responded, and Claire thought perhaps her tone held very slightly less ice. "Once these are in to bake."

An hour later, the two women departed Lallybroch for the woods. Side by side, Claire willed the silence to feel companionable rather than oppressive. She wanted to be sure they were far enough from the house before beginning their discussion.

"First one's this way," she muttered, pointing and veering their path slightly eastwards. Their footsteps crunched, and the wind rustled through the leaves above them. As Claire weighed her words, Jenny beat her to the punch.

"Ye were tried for a witch, then?" she asked, not looking to Claire.

Taken quite aback -- she hadn't expected Jenny to think much about that amongst the myriad other revelations -- Claire nodded.

"But you are'na one?"

"No," Claire said, kindly but firmly. "I'm not a witch. Never was. Though Jamie did say later he thought that would have been simpler."

Jenny's lips twitched at that, and her eyes cut toward Claire to her left. "Aye, perhaps," she agreed. Jenny huffed as they trudged on. "I understand why, ye ken," she added then. "Even 'fore ye told us who ye are, you've got a way about ye that sets you apart."

Claire nodded. "So does knowing the truth make me make more or less sense to you, then?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Nerves stronger than she'd expected knotted in her stomach, and she dug her fingers into her arms.

But Jenny sighed, and Claire loosened her hold on herself the tiniest bit.

"Ye've always made sense, Claire," she answered, to which Claire gave a disbelieving look. So Jenny, chuckling, added, "Even at the beginning when I wasna very sure of ye, even when I called you the English trollop when speaking of ye --"

"And to me," Claire reminded her but kept her voice light, teasing.

"Aye," Jenny responded unapologetically. "And e'en when I was cursin' the day my clotheid brother wed ye, deep down inside I kent it wouldna last, that feelin'. You and Jamie make too much sense together." Jenny threw a smirk at Claire. "'Twas impossible to miss, e'en then. 'Tis like vines growing towards sunlight, the way the two of ye reach for the other, even from across a room. And anythin' that makes sense with Jamie makes sense to me."

That was a new analogy for them, and Claire rather liked it. She envisioned herself as a bright green plant, born from the dirt, her soul seeking Jamie's warmth and nourishment. And him, the sun of her world, looking on and caressing her with love, taking heart in how she grows and flourishes under his heated touch. And, likewise, she knew that she was the sun to his vine, as well. Both of them gave light and life to the other. And both drew strength from that light, as well.

Pulling her thoughts back to the present, Claire slowed as they approached the first snare, bending down to check.

"Nothing," she muttered. She ensured it was set and ready to go again before continuing on to the next one.

"Then can I ask what's troubled you?" Claire continued on. "I know my story is...a lot to take in, a lot to take on faith." She swallowed, not looking toward her sister-in-law but feeling the weighted silence beside her. "But I'm afraid you're slipping back to that place where we started, and I couldn't bear it if that happened."

"Claire," Jenny said, grabbing her arm and pulling her to a stop. They paused, face to face. Jenny, for once, seemed unable to find the right words.

"I'm sorry," the shorter woman finally said. She sighed, wrapping her arms about her and casting her glance around the woods before settling back to Claire's face. "I've no meant to pull away or push you away. I'm no even angry."

'Then what?" Claire inquired.

Jenny shook her head. "Ye've been by my side now for nearly five years," she said. "And I kent I could ne'er know all there is to know of ye, what wi' being an outlander and wi'...whatever it is that marks ye as different. But for all that, I kent enough to feel like I could imagine or understand the world ye walked in, even if I'd never see it before my eyes. And that helped me to feel I could understand ye yourself.

"But now, knowin' just how...unknowable ye truly are..." Jenny shook her head, incredulous. "'Tis almost heartbreaking."

Claire reached out and grasped Jenny's shoulders. "Nothing's changed, Jenny," she said quietly. "In fact, I can share even more of myself with you and Ian now because you know about me. Parts of myself that have been hidden away, would have stayed secret forever, don't have to be anymore."

"But that's just it," Jenny argued. She raised her arms, gesturing to the woods around them. "This is my life, where I've spent all my days. I've ne'er been so far from Lallybroch that I couldna make it back for supper, even those days we went searchin' for Jamie."

Both women swallowed hard; that was not a happy memory. But Jenny pressed on.

"Ye understand my world and what makes it up more than I ever will yours." Jenny said, exasperated. "Even hearin' about it from ye, it'll all feel unreal, like a story we tell the bairns or the songs ye hear in the pubs. But it'll be real, and I'll ne'er be able to fully grasp the realness of it the way ye can with our world."

Claire actually laughed at that.

"I'm sorry," she said, blushing. "I'm just thinking about when I first traveled through the stones, first got here. I felt very much the same way."

"What way, then?"

"Like this," Claire imitated Jenny's motion, encompassing the space around them, "wasn't quite real. My first weeks here, even having it in front of me to touch and see and smell --" Claire shuddered involuntarily at the memory of some of the smells she encountered upon her arrival " -- it felt so much like walking through a dream.

"It's why I ended up making so much trouble early on," she admitted, and they slowly began moving again, side by side. They moved without worrying over their noise, and their steps continued to crunch on leaves and twigs. "I was walking this world, living in it, but everything was so foreign. It felt like a play to me, not quite real and certainly not where I was meant to be.

"Even now, I often find myself stunned at how surreal my entire life is, living in a place that I grew up thinking was long gone, a relic of history. And I still sometimes find myself lost or untethered, trying to navigate this time. It's better than it was," Claire added, looking to Jenny, whose face was stoic but definitely more relaxed. "And I know my life here is where I was meant to be. But in so many ways, Jenny, your world is just as much an enigma to me as mine is to you."

"Even so," Jenny said, "there will always be an imbalance 'tween us. Ye'll always know and understand things about us and our lives that we'll never ken."

Shaking her head, Claire responded before Jenny could continue. "I don't know anything about our lives specifically, you or Ian or Jamie or the children. I knew enough to help prepare Lallybroch for the Rising and the aftermath, but in so many ways now, I know no more of our future than you do."

Claire smiled, and Jenny returned it. "Besides," Claire went on, "where we come from is not nearly so important as where we choose to stay. And I don't think there's an imbalance." Claire paused, considering. "I think Jamie and I were meant to find one another, and I was meant to use what I could to protect us and our whole family. Where we come from is not all that makes up each of us. It's paths and choices and people that do that."

"Aye," Jenny agreed, and finally Claire saw the glow she so loved in her good sister as she smiled. "And whate'er the path was that brought you to our lives, Claire, I'm glad ye took it."

They stopped then, embracing. "So am I, Jenny," she whispered.

As they broke apart, Jenny's eyes slid to the ground a little ways ahead of them, and she grinned. "Looks like we'll have somethin' to surprise the men with for supper, then." She bent and pulled the rabbit carcass from the snare, attaching it to her belt as Claire watched. Larger than the average rabbit, it still wouldn't be enough for each person to have a share of the meat. The stew would certainly taste better for it, though, and the smidge of extra protein wouldn't hurt, either.

Looking up from their prize, Jenny turned kind eyes on Claire once more.

"I understand what yer sayin', Claire," she said, leading the way again. "And I was foolish for thinkin' that just 'cause you came from somewhere beyond our ken that ye were somehow farther away from me. It's just..." Jenny paused in her speech, feet still moving. Claire could have sworn she blushed, though the pink could have been from the exertion of walking, too. "I've never had a sister before, another woman close enough to share all wi'. Maybe the 'all' that was shared before was just a bit frightenin'." She reached out and grasped Claire's hand, the women exchanging friendly squeezes. "But I want to ken more about ye and yer world, e'en if it's no somethin' I'll truly understand."

"And I want to tell you," Claire responded, the anxiety that had rooted in her chest finally releasing as Jenny accepted her at last.

By unspoken agreement, they followed the path back toward the house in what was, most definitely this time, comfortable silence.


	7. A Father's Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie spends his birthday alone with his two children, and he and Fergus discuss recent events.

**May 1, 1749**

"Happy birthday, soldier," Claire whispered as she grazed her husband's lips with her own. Both lay in bed, sweat still drying on their chests and faces. Jamie reached for her and brought her close, smiling as he deepened their embrace and their good morning kiss.

"Ye ken that's no an unpleasant way to wake in the morning?" he breathed, his hand trailing from her hair, over her shoulders and down to press into her round belly, easily distinguishable now at five months along, a good morning embrace for their child, as well.

Claire grinned, twirling one of his red curls around her finger. "I thought you'd enjoy it."

They breathed each other in for a moment more, pushing away the sounds of the rest of the house coming to life around them. In moments like these, Jamie felt at true peace, like every bit of the universe sat in the place it was meant. He felt himself living out the dream he'd had far before Claire had entered his life, the one he'd watched his father live out: waking in the laird's chamber, wife and bairns about the home, and him presiding over all, taking care of them with love and joy. Some mornings he woke unable to breathe until he'd touched Claire beside him, reassured himself that she existed and wasn't actually a dream he'd concocted. So he'd brush his fingers through her hair or reach to feel the life that grew within her and sigh with relief that they were real and they were his. And then he'd laugh to himself. Of course Claire couldn't be an apparition from his own mind. In a thousand years, he knew he could never imagine a being such as she. She had to be real.

Finally, they sighed and parted without a word. As they each began to dress, Claire turned to Jamie. "So what, pray tell, do you plan on doing to celebrate?"

Jamie smiled as he pulled on his breeks. "Well," he said, "Ian and I must be out in the fields for the morning tendin' the last of the potato planting. But I thought perhaps to take Fergus and Bree down to the loch in the afternoon."

Claire stood and wrapped her arms around Jamie's neck. "I think that's a lovely idea." Her left hand remained pressed to his cheek as her right framed her belly. "With wee maybe-William coming soon, I think they'd both like some individual attention from the both of us while we can still give it."

"Just..." Jamie hesitated, wary of his next move. "Promise me ye'll stay close to home, Sassenach."

A flash of annoyance colored his wife's cheeks, hard as she tried to hide it. But Jamie didn't care. He still worried about Frank, Murtagh's words ringing in his ears.

_Ye don't suppose he'll actually return, do ye?_

Truly no reason existed to think Frank would come back and try again. Jamie told himself this in the night when visions of Claire disappearing through the stones woke him up in a cold sweat, heart racing and dread weighting his limbs so he had to fight to reach across the bed to feel her sleeping form.

He wouldn't return. Jamie repeated the mantra to himself nightly. And yet, the nagging worry never abated.

When Jenny and Claire had returned in high spirits from checking the snares a few weeks before, he'd been cross with the both of them for leaving the house without a word to either husband. Immediately, regret had made him flush with shame as he'd followed his angry wife to their bedroom. Angry until she'd seen the tears shining in his eyes as he'd closed the bedroom door and just held her to him, his arms wrapped tight about her shoulders and clutching her head to his chest.

In less harsh tones, he'd made his request: Stay close to the main house, don't venture off without an escort, preferably him.

As she'd nodded with pursed lips, her face hazy as moisture had gathered in his eyes, Jamie'd known she was placating him. There would be more fights, more frustration exchanged before the issue could truly be laid to rest. He'd deal with it then.

"All right," she tersely agreed now, her smile too strained to be true. "Jenny needs help with some of the mending anyway. And Maggie's outgrowing her clothes, so we'll be starting on some new ones." In an instant, her lighthearted demeanor returned, and Jamie released a relieved breath before kissing her deeply.

And so, after Jamie had finished his duties in the field and the family had eaten lunch, the laird gathered his son and daughter, and they three headed out toward the loch. Bree rode on his shoulders with her fingers tangled in her father's matching red curls, giddy at venturing so far from the house on such a sunny day. Fergus walked beside him, both men walking in silence.

Jamie agreed with Claire that both children deserved some one-on-one time with both parents before the newborn demanded all their attentions in a few months' time. But more than anything, Jamie wanted this time with Fergus away from the house, away from Claire, to try to discuss the revelations that had come after Frank's arrival.

After learning Claire's secret, Jamie had watched his foster son carefully. And while Fergus's admiration and respect for Claire had only deepened in light of the information she'd shared, at times the boy also seemed more reserved, watching both him and Claire with a curious gaze he couldn't quite read. At first, he'd thought perhaps it was some delayed reaction to seeing Black Jack's face after what had happened in Paris. Claire thought so, as well, and had tried to broach the subject. Fergus, however, brushed her off and insisted all was well.

But as days went on and Fergus's gaze lingered on Claire and him, Jamie could see the thoughts and fears swirling in his mind. Perhaps they were painful or something he'd prefer speaking with a man about. Or, if they centered around Claire's origins, he didn't want to hurt her.

Either way, Jamie wanted the lad to have a chance to speak freely, and he wanted to comfort him and relieve him of whatever haunted his spirit.

Approaching the loch, Jamie lifted Bree from his shoulders and let her run toward the water, not taking his eyes off her as she splashed in the shallows. "Sit wi' me, Fergus," he said, taking a seat only feet away from the water's edge. Close enough to grab Bree should she wade into the water but far enough that she wouldn't notice them talking. At her age, Brianna wouldn't understand their conversation. That didn't mean Jamie wanted her to hear more than she should. Only last week she'd heard him hiss _ifrinn_ after spilling hot tea on himself and had promptly added the expletive to her regular vocabulary. Claire had glared at him over their entire dinner after a full day of their daughter chanting it through the halls.

Understand she may not; repeat she most definitely would.

"Fergus," Jamie said after a moment, turning toward him. "I ken ye've a lot on yer mind after everything that happened...before."

The boy swallowed guiltily, looking away.

"'Tis all right, lad," Jamie added. He put a soothing hand to Fergus's back with a congenial thump. "We've just been worrit is all. 'Twas quite a lot to take in. And with Frank bein' here, as well..." Jamie trailed off, gauging Fergus's reaction. The boy shook his head.

"No, Milord. Monsieur Randall did not bother me so much," he stated with certainty. He hesitated, averting his eyes, before continuing, "He looked the same, but not exactly. Like a brother. And he...smelled different, sounded different."

Jamie clenched his own jaw, understanding with perfect clarity the differences Fergus spoke of. Sweat and lavender versus dirt and smoke. Cold calculation behind the eyes versus fatigue and desperation. The physical differences that had allowed Jamie to look upon the man's face without immediately slitting his throat.

Unclenching, Jamie pressed on. "'Twould be all right if ye were upset, ye ken," Jamie said. "And ye could tell us."

" _Je sais_ , Milord," Fergus replied with a genuine smile. "'Tis not that."

Jamie nodded. Then it was Claire's story that had the wheels spinning at high speed in his head after all.

"Well, whate'er weighs on ye, _a balach_ , ye should ken ye can ask us or tell us anythin'. Ye need not fear speakin' yer mind to me or your mam."

Fergus sat in silence, seemingly pondering Jamie's words. Jamie followed his lead, leaning back on his hands with legs stretched before him, eyes on Brianna still happily splashing in the water. Jumping up and down, the toddler began moving farther from the safety of the shallows. Just as Jamie made to dart toward her, Fergus jumped to his own feet and went to guide Brianna away from any danger.

Jamie grinned, watching the two of them in the water as Fergus stayed a moment to drizzle water over Brianna's red hair or splash her playfully. After telling the household that Claire was pregnant with her three years earlier, the two of them had taken Fergus aside. They'd told him then that, if he wanted, he could call them Mam and Da, that they considered him their child just as much as Faith and just as much as Bree soon to come. Jamie remembered the way tears had welled in Fergus's eyes, the smile that had stretched across his face.

And he remembered the surprise coloring his and Claire's faces as Fergus had explained to them that, in his mind, _Milord_ and _Milady_ meant just that: Mam and Da. How since they'd brought him to Scotland, his names for them held no connotation of servant and master but were just who they were in his mind and heart, as innate to their persons as their own names. And so, _Milord_ and _Milady_ they'd stayed.

Once Brianna had entered the world, Fergus took to heart the role of big brother. Always with a watchful eye on the lass to prevent her from toddling up the stairs or with a silly face and tickling fingers to assuage imminent temper tantrums. Watching them warmed Jamie's heart. He couldn't love the lad more had he fathered him himself, and he knew Claire agreed.

Dripping but laughing, Fergus rejoined Jamie and left Brianna to continue running about at the water's edge. The minutes with her had pinked his cheeks and brought lightness back to his eyes, Jamie noted. Fergus mimicked Jamie's pose, arms behind, legs stretched out in front, and grew serious again, though not quite so somber as before.He darted his eyes to and from Jamie's face quickly, as though hoping the older man wouldn't notice. Still, Jamie waited.

Finally, Fergus spoke.

"Milady's story, 'tis like the one you tell to the bairns before bed?" he asked softly. "The fairy princess who jumps through the stones to find a prince?"

Jamie nodded. "Aye," he admitted. "We thought that perhaps, one day, ye'd all deserve to ken where yer blood and yer family come from." Jamie sat up, crossing his legs. "We thought perhaps havin' the story in yer minds would help you to understand later, if we told ye."

Fergus nodded, looking down at the grass before him. "Can you jump through the stones, Milord? Or me, or Brianna?"

"No everyone can travel through the stones," Jamie said. "I've been there several times myself, and they dinna call to me like they do for her. And she didna ken that she could until it happened by accident."

"How does it work, then?" Fergus asked. "How can Milady do it but you cannot?

Jamie shrugged. "We dinna ken just how it works. Perhaps the stones are just tools God uses to bring certain people together," he said softly, thinking of how Claire had found him nearly immediately after traveling through, how he'd known so quickly that she'd one day be his. "I've thought that, perhaps, that's what makes the stones work: that someone, somewhere must be summonin' ye to them to go through, even without realizin' they are."

Fergus's eyebrows knit together. "But if that's how it works," he said slowly, "then how did Monsieur Randall come through? Did God bring him for Milady?"

"I honestly dinna ken how Frank got here," Jamie responded, his voice calm despite the darkness that permeated his mind whenever thought of Frank invaded it. "Perhaps so, if only to set his mind at ease. But he's gone now."

"Will he take Milady away?" Fergus asked, his voice trembling. "Does he think the stones brought him to take her?"

"Och, no, lad," Jamie said and pulled Fergus into his side, rubbing his hand over his shoulder in comfort. Fergus rested his head on his father's shoulder, clenching his teeth to keep from crying. "That's what's been troublin' ye, then? Yer worried Claire will leave?"

Fergus didn't answer out loud, only burrowed his face deeper into Jamie's shoulder.

Jamie sighed, willing his heart to slow and his mind to clear enough to form coherent words. He could hardly blame the boy; he himself held similar worries. Hadn't he just made Claire promise to stay at the house for the very same reason?

Was his own worry infecting his child's well-being, Jamie wondered with shock. He masked his own emotions and thoughts well. But Fergus had often surprised him with his perceptiveness, how he picked up on subtleties Jamie would never have guessed he noticed.

So had Jamie's own fears about losing Claire bled into Fergus's young psyche?

Jamie let out another breath, willing himself to release pent up paranoia and anxiety. And, just as he had done with Murtagh and most nights since returning from Craig Na Dun, Jamie spoke the hope of his mind and shoved aside the fears of his heart. "Milady willna leave us, lad. Frank was...confused. When Milady disappeared from his time, ye ken, he didna know where she'd gone or if she was safe. So he had to come and make sure she was all right. And, as her first husband, he had to make sure to protect her if she wasna. That's all he was tryin' to do, lad. He just..." Jamie trailed off, unsure how to define Frank's startling behavior upon his arrival to Lallybroch.

"And you did not care? That she had been married before you?"

Jamie shook his head, one side of his mouth twitching up in a rye smile. "No, lad. Granted, I thought she was a widow when we wed, no the...unusual circumstances yer mam found herself in. But no, I didna care. What matters is what we have now. The love for each other, and for you and Brianna and the new bairn, and Jenny and Ian and all their brood." Smiling, Jamie ruffled the boy's dark locks as they both laughed.

He thought of his own father's words, told to him in reverence so many years before, the words that had returned to him the day he met Claire and so many days after. "One day, Fergus, ye'll meet a lass and ye'll ken in your bones that she is a part of ye, that she is more to ye than all on earth or in heaven. And almost from the first time Milady and I met, I kent that I needed her like I needed air. And it willna matter the mistakes either of ye made before or the past ye both had. All that will matter is forgin' together a future. She will make ye better, and ye will her."

Fergus nodded. His thoughts and words, then, turned back to the stone circle. "Do you think she ever wishes to go back, Milord? She must have left a lot behind there, even besides Monsieur Randall. Does she ever want to go back for what she left?"

With one eye still on Brianna in the water, he replied, "Well, she told me once of hot baths you can have there anytime ye like. Said they were nearly enough to tempt her back." He smirked at Fergus, who did not laugh at his joke, and sighed. "But, truly, her heart is here with you and me and our family. Hot baths or no, ye ken she wants nothin' more than to be with all of us." He paused. Fergus looked to his hands, twirling a bit of grass between his fingers, not answering.

"Well," Jamie added after a moment, "ye left behind a lot in Paris, yer whole life, everything ye kent. Do ye ever regret it or wish to leave us and go back there?"

" _Non_ , Milord!" Fergus declared, sitting up. "My place is here with you and Milady and Bree."

Jamie clapped Fergus on the back with a victorious grin. "Then ye've answered yer own question about Milady, haven't ye?"

Fergus opened his mouth to respond just as Brianna, squealing with glee, charged back toward the two men with a frog cupped between her tiny toddler hands. "Da, lookit!" she shrieked. Just as she reached them, the frog leaped from her hands onto Fergus's knee, causing him to jerk in surprise. Jamie, laughing, caught it in his own large hands and gave it back to a giggling Brianna.

"Och, hold on to that, little lass," he said. "Fergus doesna seem to care for it."

A mischievous glint came into Brianna's eye then, and Fergus noticed too. The serious frown dissipated. With a growing grin, he leapt to his feet and began to run away, slow enough for Brianna's short legs to follow (if not quite catch up), eyes wide in faux-terror as she chased him with the amphibian.

" _Non, ma petite soeur_!" he cried, looking over his shoulder.

"Too fast, Fugus," Brianna said, chasing him doggedly even as the distance between them never closed.

Jamie, heart full at the scene before him, stood and grabbed Brianna by the waist. "Well, he willna be too fast for me, will he now?" With Brianna held tight under one arm, her own hands still holding tight to the poor frog, Fergus picked up speed as the two red-headed Frasers gained on him. Finally within reaching distance, Jamie reached out with his spare arm and hooked Fergus's still small frame around the waist as Brianna deposited the frog onto his brown curls. Brianna shrieked with glee, Jamie twirling them both as Fergus reached up to swipe the frog from his head. Setting the children down and still gasping with laughter, Jamie grabbed the frog and walked back to the water, returning the small creature to the safety of his own home.

Brianna and Fergus chased each other for a while longer, high-pitched giggles and French teasing rolling over the quiet land. Jamie mostly watched, occasionally joining in to help the shortest Fraser catch her brother.

After a time, flushed from their play, father and children settled again on the banks. Bree cuddled on Jamie's lap, and Fergus leaned into his side. Jamie had one arm around each of them.

"So," Fergus said softly after Bree had dozed against Jamie's shoulder some minutes before, "Milady is ours, _oui_?"

Jamie smiled, pulling him closer. "Aye, lad. She's ours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this scene with Jamie and Fergus, and I know it comes on the heels of another discussion-heavy chapter, but I felt it was really important to show the bond between the two of them as well as address some of Fergus's concerns about everything that's happened. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it, and as always thank you for your lovely comments and for following along!


	8. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank keeps a weather eye on Lallybroch.

**June 2, 1749**

Frank watched the goings-on of Lallybroch from the safety of the tree line, taking the time he'd neglected to on his first journey to the estate. He'd walked from Inverness on foot this time, declining McGillivray's offer of his horse but accepting a small amount of coin to sustain him on his mission. And whenever supplies ran low, he'd scavenge what he could from the land or steal away to Broch Mordha for whisky and food, careful to speak as little as he could to avoid detection as a Sassenach, which would surely get back to Fraser somehow. Frank's ability to stay hidden was paramount to his success this time. If he were to take back his Claire, he needed to know every detail of her routine, and he needed time to make the right move.

Far from the house as he was, it was impossible to hear what any of them said as they wandered about the property and even more impossible to view inside the home. No, he couldn't risk approaching the windows. But he watched patiently, spending weeks skulking around the estate to observe and strategize, willing himself to take his time, to learn all he could. He must not fail.

Claire rarely left the house without either Fraser or the dark-haired woman at her side. Sometimes the boy and girl he'd noticed before were with her, as well. And as her belly grew large enough to see even from this great distance, Claire ventured away from the house less and less.

No matter. One day, she would. He'd found her garden plots, one nearer the home and one out of view of the main house near the trees where he watched. The berry bushes there yielded more each day, and only two days ago he'd hidden from the young boys who'd then bolted off in excitement at seeing the bounty growing here; she'd come to gather soon. He'd have his chance sooner or later.

After weeks spent in near silence in the woods, Frank almost looked forward to seeing who would emerge from the house day to day, watching any of them at work on their chores. Whether it was the young boys corralling chickens and working in the stables, the one-legged man fixing a wagon, Claire and the other woman hanging laundry on a line, even Fraser himself digging and working the land. It certainly lacked the variety of his television back home, but observing the residents of Lallybroch at their various tasks broke up the otherwise monotonous existence Frank found himself in.

Today, it was the four of them: Claire, Fraser, and the two children. Sunset was near. The adults sat in the grass arm in arm, watching the boy and girl run and chase each other behind the large house. Frank felt the heat of envy and rage enflame his chest as he watched Claire rest her head on Fraser's shoulder, as he saw the man plant a kiss on the top of her head, lips moving in unheard conversation.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen them like this. Almost every time he'd seen them together, in fact, they were touching. Or kissing. Or embracing. Or smiling over some banter or joke he'd never be privy to. Never once did Fraser raise a hand to her or the children, never once seemed to have even a cross word or flash of annoyance at any of them.

And each time he saw it, he hated the man more and more for the kindness and happiness he exuded even from a hundred yards away. Hated him for taking what didn't belong to him, for usurping Frank's own territory as husband and lover and father. But, unknown even to himself, fury germinated for Claire in those moments, as well, as he was forced to face the truth in the words she'd spoken to him before: She may not have chosen to leave, but she had chosen to stay. And she had sent him away.

Frank thought about the war, the many nights he'd spent lying in bed, staring at the ceiling or the stars above him, trying to pretend Claire was next to him so he could fall asleep. He did the same here each night he hid himself to slumber in the woods. Imagined the heat of her, the weight of her pressed against his body. Recalled the sounds of her breathing, the way she'd twitch as she fell into a dream.

In those wartime moments, with the threat of death or worse constantly on his mind and the weight of knowing just how many men he'd all but sentenced to one fate or the other, Claire had anchored him. Imagining her comforting him in the dark as he'd strategized and sent out assignments, bombs raining down on the country all the while, warmed his soul far more than any one-night stand could have. Frank had kept Claire forefront in his mind and promised himself he'd make it through if only to build a life with and for her. And once the war had ended and they'd reunited, more than once he'd wondered if that promise to himself was the only reason why he'd made it back at all.

While he often could fool himself into feeling her presence beside him in the war, he had much more trouble in the wilds of 18th century Scotland. Only because it had been so long since they had clung together in the darkness, he told himself. But really, Claire -- the _idea_ of her -- had never been so distant from him. The Claire he witnessed with Fraser was a Claire he'd never known. Oh, yes, they had made love passionately and had often walked hand-in-hand or sometimes shared a sedate kiss in public. The smiles she had given him had all been full and genuine. But never before had she floated with him quite like she did with Fraser. Never before had she leaned her head on his shoulder while waiting for a train or sitting on a park bench. Frank couldn't call to mind a single time she'd reached up and run her fingers through his hair before kissing him deeply with no warning. Even from such a great distance, he couldn't deny the gravitational pull they exerted on each other, their bodies and movements perfectly in tandem. If he was her moon, she was his ocean, and the harmonious dance between them the ebbing and flowing of their synchronous tides.

Frank confronted the notion that Fraser may not be the jailer he'd imagined. And the realization made him want to die.

Some hours after the four had retreated inside, Frank found himself sobbing in the woods under the brightness of the moon. Drinking on the whisky he'd brought from town, he flopped to the ground with sobs still exploding from his chest. The tree branches stretching out above him swirled as though he were in the center of a merry-go-round that wouldn't stop turning.

 _Should I go home, then?_ he asked himself, sniffing as he stared upward. With each day, the truth of her happiness here became more apparent. Claire didn't need saving. Whatever protection he had to offer her had long since been deemed unnecessary.

A better man would have said yes. A stronger man would have dusted himself off and been grateful that she'd found good people, that she'd never been hurt or scared by the family she'd been forced into.

But Frank knew the future that awaited him with Claire gone. A future of wanting, drowning in drink and empty conversations with coworkers and students. Nights trying to imagine her as his only to know just how truly he'd lost her, unable to even pretend any longer that he felt her beside him.

No future, that is.

Claire _was_ his. It was that simple. Dates be damned; he'd come first in her life, and that's all there was to it. Frank just needed to get her back, and she'd realize all she'd given up. They'd been right for each other once and they could be again. He just needed his moment and the strength to see it through no matter what.

And so he'd wait.


	9. The Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four people leave Lallybroch, and the race is on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Memories of *past* child loss; threats of violence.

**June 25, 1749**

**3:00 p.m.**

Six months pregnant, and Claire was going stir crazy. Between Jamie's concern over her health and his fading but still present worry from Frank's sudden appearance months before, he'd been unwilling to let her venture far from the main house at all. Occasionally she'd been able to slip away with Jenny or Fergus to tend to a patient or see to her garden, but it had been a solid four weeks within these stone walls, and she couldn't take a moment more of it.

Jamie and Fergus had traveled to the McNabbs' home to help birth one of their mares. With Murtagh in the town to deal with a broken plough and Ian in the study going through ledgers, Claire decided to take advantage of the chance to stretch her legs.

Claire waltzed to the kitchen, grabbing her herb basket.

"Makin' a break fer it, then?" Jenny joked from her seat amidst the mending.

Ian looked up, calling through the open doors of the study, "Ye ken Jamie will lock ye in yer chamber if he founds out yer wanderin' around the grounds in his absence." His words of warning were only slightly undercut by the tone of amusement in his voice and the grin he failed to suppress.

"Och, she'll be fine," Jenny said, standing to refill her mug with tea from the kitchen. "My brother's a worrit fool. 'Tis no healthy for her to be lazing about the house for three more months. Air and exercise will do her and the bairn a world of good."

"Thank you, Jenny," Claire said with a thankful smile. "And he may try to lock me in our chamber all he likes, but he'll have a hard time without a key. Which is hidden. So best of luck to him finding it."

"Whatever happens, just keep me far out of it," Ian said, hands up in surrender as he chuckled.

Claire moved to leave the family room. Bree, who'd been sitting with Maggie on the floor as Jenny did her mending, darted up and grasped Claire's skirts. "Up, Mama!" she said, arms reaching upwards. As both Brianna and Baby Fraser continued to grow larger, it had been some time since Claire had been able to hold her daughter, which only seemed to make Bree more insistent.

"You know mummy can't carry you, Bree," Claire said. "But you can come with me and carry the basket for mummy's plants. How's that sound?"

With a gasp of excitement, Brianna took hold of the basket in one hand and grasped Claire's skirt in her other. Claire passed Jenny as she was returning with her tea. "I'll be back in an hour...or so," Claire said with a grin over her shoulder as she opened the door and headed out. 

Freedom. Sweet, sweet freedom. Claire breathed a sigh of relief as a warm breeze teased a curl from her pins and across her face. Looking down at Brianna, her red curls danced in the wind as well, and Claire was overwhelmed with a rush of love for her daughter. Her hair was long for a toddler, curls reaching nearly to her tiny elbows. A blue ribbon held her hair away from her face, but the back flowed freely behind her as they walked. As ridiculous as the idea was, Claire could imagine Brianna as the star of a picturesque tourism ad for Scotland. Cherubic face with bright golden eyes, fair skin shining amidst bright, wild red curls dancing in a wind that smelled at once sweet and earthy against a background of gray skies and grassy hills. Claire could just see the posters hanging in the train station or printed in magazines. Sure to cause a considerable bump in visitors, it would be. The land was in her daughter's blood.

Between Claire's waddling stroll and Brianna's short legs, they made slow progress but reached the first plot behind the house in just a few minutes. There, Claire pulled out a few creeping weeds and helped Bree pick some of the herbs they were running low on in the kitchen.

Claire huffed as she stood, hand to her lower back. She glanced up at the sun, gauging how much time before she needed to head back toward the house to beat Jamie home. "What do you say, little dove?" Claire asked. "Should we surprise Da with some berries for after dinner?"

"Aye, Mama!" Bree said, skipping with the basket in both hands toward the tree line.

"Well, what should we pick today?" Claire called after her, a hand under her heavy stomach. "Do we want raspberries or strawberries tonight?"

"Strawb'rees! Strawb'rees!" Claire giggled at Bree's attempt to pronounce the word like her mother, a smidge of English within the Scottish burr she'd surely grow into.

"Strawberries it is, then," Claire said, smiling. They walked in silence, Bree skipping a few steps ahead as they meandered toward the woods' edge farther from the house and the bushes Claire had cultivated there. She'd come across a wild patch two summers previously, and she'd then transplanted a few additional berry bushes from other areas of the estate to cultivate her very own small berry farm, complete with trellises to encourage expansion and a fence with a gate to deter the game from devouring them. None of the bushes had produced much last year, but wee Jamie and Rabbie had come out here a few weeks before and excitedly announced that the berries were coming in. Claire almost suspected the surprise of a sweet treat with dinner may alleviate any annoyance at her unapproved field trip from the house. Or so she hoped, anyway.

Shoving thoughts of a potentially irritated Jamie away, Claire caught up to Bree, who'd managed the latch and had already begun plucking berries from the bushes and popping them directly into her mouth.

"Save some for the basket, little dove," Claire said, easing herself down to her knees to help Bree pick. "We need enough for everyone, remember?"

They plucked berries in silence, occasionally giggling as they sampled their wares, until Claire heard the gate creak behind her.

"Jenny?" she asked as she turned, then froze.

"Frank," she breathed.

Before she could fully absorb the man standing before her, he reached down and grabbed her by the bicep and pulled her roughly to her feet. He released her arm, then paused, all without a word.

"Frank, what are you doing back here?" she asked finally. "If Jamie sees you here --"

"He's not home," Frank cut her off, his voice a choked monotone. "I saw him and the boy ride off this morning. The dark-haired one, too. Only the cripple and the woman are in the house."

Claire furrowed her brow, shaking her head as a sinking feeling made her nauseous. "You've been watching the house?" she croaked out. Slowly, hoping not to draw his attention, Claire grabbed Brianna's shoulder and positioned herself in front of her daughter, keeping a wary eye on Frank.

"That was the problem last time, jumping the gun before we could really talk one on one and make an escape plan," Frank replied.

"Frank, listen to me. There is no escape. I'm not going back with you, and I mean it."

"You're still wearing my ring, goddammit!" Frank hissed at her, taking a step toward her that made Claire jump despite herself. She pushed Brianna further behind her. Her thumb unconsciously slid over the emptiness on her left ring finger as she tucked the hand within her skirts. "I realized it a few days after I came back here, that I'd seen it on your hand in the barn. You never took off my wedding band. That must mean something!"

"Yes," Claire said, using all her strength to control her voice. "It means I cared about you, that you held a special place in my heart that will never not care about you." She felt the hot sting of tears behind her eyes. Weighing her options, she brought the offending hand free of her skirts, raising it to show Frank that his ring no longer adorned it.

"Frank," she said calmly. "I'm not wearing your ring." She swallowed and continued before he took the chance to butt in. "I kept it on as a way to pay respect to you, your pain, and the life we had. But once you learned the truth, I finally took it off." Claire lowered her hand protectively to her stomach and breathed in quietly. "I'm sorry, but my place is not with you anymore. And you need to go home."

Frank was advancing slowly, and Claire took note of his appearance for the first time. He looked ragged, his clothes filthy and torn in places. His hair was greasy, and he'd clumsily bandaged some kind of wound on his hand. Dark circles encased his eyes, eyes that looked back at her with that same frantic energy that had terrified her upon his initial visitation.

He seemed to consider her words, and she felt her heart hammering in her chest. How long had she been gone? Would Jenny or Ian come looking for her if an hour went by without her return, or would they assume she was just fine?

"It doesn't matter," Frank said with a flick of his hand toward Claire's. "Ring or not, you were my wife first, and that's the way it should be."

"No, Frank," Claire said. "It's not, and I'm not."

Slowly, very slowly, Frank pulled a blade from his belt line, and Claire's breathing hitched. She began to back away, keeping a hold on Brianna behind her. "Frank, this isn't you," she whispered as he advanced.

"You're right," he said, his deep voice so familiar and yet completely different than how it had sounded in her mind all these years. "The Frank you knew is long gone, and so is the Claire I knew." She felt the fence against her back and pressed against it, feeling Brianna behind her legs. "But that doesn't mean the Frank and Claire we are now can't start over like we'd once hoped to. You haven't even been here as long as we were apart in the war." The shine of tears in his eyes broke her heart and chilled her to the bone.

"Mama," came a cry from behind her, and she heard the beginnings of a sob.

"It's okay, little dove," Claire said, not moving, not taking her eyes off Frank and the weapon. "It's okay, love. We're going home soon."

Frank now stood before her, blocking any escape. The point of the knife touched her stomach. Not even hard enough to indent the fabric of her dress, but Claire held her breath as terror washed over her. "Frank, please," she whispered as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Claire," he said, but he didn't move the knife. "But it's time to go home."

Her breath was still sharp in her chest, and she felt sweat rolling down the back of her dress. Would he strike if she resisted or pulled away? She couldn't carry Brianna if she ran, and he could certainly outrun either of them regardless. Would he hurt her if he got his hands on her?

Jamie would know soon what happened. He'd know where Frank was taking them. He'd stop it. Claire knew he would. "All right," she said, nodding slowly. "We-we'll go with you. We won't fight."

"No," Frank responded. "She'll slow us down. She stays."

"No!" Claire said, planting herself firmer in front of Brianna. "No, if I go, she goes."

Frank shook his head, holding the blade steady against the swell of her dress. "There's no guarantee she can go through even if she came," Frank said. "Would you leave her alone far from home if she can't travel?"

More tears streamed from her eyes and her lip trembled, unable to hold them at bay anymore. "Frank, she's two years old. She can't stay here by herself."

"We'll close her in the garden," Frank said, nodding his head toward the gate on the other side. "Nothing will get in, and she won't wander off. But the longer we stay here, someone may come for you. I don't want to hurt anyone, Claire, but it's time to put this behind us and go back to our lives, and I won't let him stop us again."

He pressed the blade imperceptibly harder into the fabric, enough for Claire to feel just a hint of pressure. A sob broke free from her chest and she held her breath to keep any more from escaping. Whoever Frank was now, she did not trust him to not harm Brianna, and she didn't trust him to not harm the child she carried.

She'd have to trust Jamie to find Brianna and to come for her.

Closing her eyes, she nodded once. Frank stepped away at last and made for the gate. Claire turned and descended to her knees, her hands on Brianna's face. "Bree, my dove, I need you to wait here," she whispered, silent tears running freely down her cheeks.

"No, Mama. Wanna go home," the little girl said, her own lips trembling.

"I know, baby," Claire responded, pulling Brianna into a hug. She whispered in her ear. "Brianna, when you can't see me anymore, I need you to cry out for Da and keep calling him until he comes. Can you do that, love?" Bree nodded into her shoulder.

"Oh, I love you, my little dove, and I'll be back soon. I promise." She pulled away from Brianna and dried her daughter's cheeks. "You're such a brave, strong lass. Da will be here soon, and he'll take you home, okay?" Before Bree could answer, Claire pulled herself up on the fence post and turned to follow Frank.

They walked through the gate, then Frank latched it behind them. Claire sobbed with each step she took but refused to turn around to see the red curls peeking between the slats on the fence, even as she heard the choked sobs of "Mama" following her. If she turned, if she saw, she knew she couldn't keep walking.

 _Find her, Jamie,_ she cried out in her mind as Frank grabbed her arm again and hurried her forward through the woods. She placed her hands beneath her bump and tried to keep up, her racing heart making it tough to breathe. _Keep her safe. And I swear to you, I'll keep this one safe, whether you find us or not._

#

**5:34 p.m.**

Jamie, Fergus, and Murtagh rode up to the barn exhausted but cheerful. The foaling had been frightful for a time, and he'd thought back to the time Claire had saved the mare at Leoch, saddened she couldn't make the trip today. But all ended well enough. Murtagh had met them on the road with news that the plough would be ready to retrieve from the smith in Broch Mordha in three days' time, and they finished the journey home together.

Fergus and Rabbie set to work tending the horses as Murtagh and Jamie washed quickly before heading in the door. Murtagh went straight to the kitchen looking for a pre-dinner nibble while Jamie wandered into the sitting room.

"Claire!" he called out, and Jenny turned from her mending to smile at him.

"The birth go well, then, _a brathair_?" she asked, her fingers never stopping their work.

Jamie smiled back. "Aye, well enough." He glanced around, noting his wife's absent. "Is she sleepin', then?" he asked, glancing up the staircase.

Jenny rolled her eyes. "Well, she promised she'd be back 'fore you returned, but she just took Brianna for a bit of air in the gardens."

"She what?" Jamie whirled on his sister, heat rising in his chest. "Christ, Jenny, she's more than six months gone and ye let her wander about on her own?"

"Jamie, ye canna keep the woman locked in the house. She'd already agreed to stop walking into town and tendin' the patients there. Some fresh air and a leisurely walk are good for a woman wi' child, ye ken?" she responded. She sighed, standing to put her hands on her brother's shoulders. "Bein' cooped up is distressin' for her, brother, and that's no healthy for the bairn either, aye?"

He sighed, eyes narrowed as he glared at Jenny. "When'd she go, then?"

Jenny shrugged. "It's been a few hours. I'm sure she's just takin' it easy on the trip there and back."

Looking out the window, Jamie searched for the sun. They likely had a good bit of daylight left, but he didn't want to risk losing the light with Claire and Brianna still out there. The initial struggle with the horse's birth earlier in the day weighed on him, put an anxious knot in his stomach as he thought about Claire and her own past struggles with birth. The foal had come out right enough, which had been a relief, but he knew he wouldn't truly breathe easy until he saw his wife again and knew her to be safe and well, at least for now.

"Right," he said, heading back toward the door. "I'll go find her, then."

He left the house before Jenny could respond and marched around the house to the closer herb garden. It had clearly been tended, the few weeds that had popped up in the last few weeks piled up outside the fence. Jamie huffed an annoyed sigh and headed toward the farther garden.

"Christ, woman, do I need to lock you in the priest hole to keep ye from galavantin' about?" he muttered to himself as he approached the tree line.

In his mind, he knew Jenny was right. Jenny hardly ever slowed down her own work up until her pains came with each of her pregnancies and was back at it again within a day of the births. Even though delivering Bree had been trying, the pregnancy had gone smoothly, and in the end mother and daughter had been just fine. And Jamie truly had no desire for Claire to feel trapped or restless.

But he couldn't erase from his mind the look on his father's face as he learned that his mother and baby brother had died in the childbed. And the nightmare of watching Claire collapse in the Parisian wood, covered in blood, would haunt him until he died. As would the months spent not knowing if either of them had survived, the guilt and hopelessness of loss that had pervaded every moment of his existence. Even if she bore him a dozen healthy children, the trauma and violence of Faith's death would always color his experience of her pregnancies, as he knew it did for her.

He just couldn't lose her, couldn't bear the pain of not getting to meet another of his children.

Maybe they could compromise; he'd loosen the reins a bit, so to speak, and she'd promise not to leave without a companion -- him or Jenny or Ian or Fergus or even wee Jamie -- just in case something happened. Someone who could make good time running to the house for help if nothing else.

As he approached the garden, a cry interrupted his musings.

"Da! Da!" he heard the hoarse call, broken with loud crying, and his heart dropped.

"Brianna!" he called out, breaking into a run until he could see the fence surrounding Claire's berry bushes. His daughter's red curls showed through the slats, her tiny fingers wrapped around the rough wood. Throwing up the latch and wrenching open the gate, Jamie dropped to his knees and gathered the weeping child into his arms, holding her tight to his chest. He looked around the garden, expecting to see Claire -- had she fallen? had the heat gotten to her? -- but she was nowhere in sight.

Pulling his daughter from his shoulder, he dried her cheeks and looked into her eyes. "Where's yer mam, Bree?" he breathed, fighting for a steady voice.

"Mama," she responded, voice cracking. She must have been calling for him for a while, and he felt a stab of fear in his heart. More tears rolled down her red cheeks. "Where's Mama?"

Jamie then saw the basket near the strawberry bush, laying on its side, herbs and berries spilling out.

"Brianna," he said more urgently, "what happened here?"

His tone only panicked her more and she shook with her sobs. "Mama gone, Da," she wailed. "Mama went gone."

"Where, _a leannan_?" Jamie choked out, stroking her wet cheeks. Claire wouldn't leave Bree alone in the woods, not if she had a choice. Not unless someone forced her. An icy hand gripped his heart as he asked, "Did she go wi' someone? A man?"

Bree nodded, and Jamie felt the earth disappear from beneath him.

Months had passed. He'd _seen_ the wretched man disappear, for Christ's sake. It couldn't be him. But who else?

"Did he speak strangely, _mo chuisle_?" he whispered. "Did he sound like yer mam?"

Another nod, another painful stab to his heart.

Frank had come back. And he had Claire.

#

**6:48 p.m.**

Jamie's and Murtagh's horses had hardly time to eat and drink before they were sprinting again from the archway back down the road. Ian had tried to convince him to take another horse, one that hadn't just spent the day carrying him to and from town, but Donas was the fastest, had the highest stamina. Jamie needed Donas to reach the stones in time.

After a chaotic entrance with Brianna and frantic explanations, Murtagh had convinced him that taking the road to Craigh Na Dun was smarter than following the trail through the woods in the dark.

_"He's a city man draggin' a pregnant woman through the wood," Jamie had retorted. "I guarantee he's leavin' a trail clear as I stand here before ye."_

_"Aye," Murtagh said, "but if he plans on stickin' to the woods, he'll take longer to get there than we would on the road. So we can hope to catch them up in the trees or we can ride like the devil and beat them to where they're goin.'"_

So now they rode, saddle bags loaded with as many provisions as they could gather in the minutes before he set out and his dirk hidden in the bottom of a saddle bag. The sun was already low in the sky, darkness not far, but it would be hours yet before Jamie stopped for a rest.

In the moments dashing back to the house, Brianna in his arms, Jamie had cursed Claire for her foolishness, for her stubbornness. Why had she gone out alone? How could she risk herself, their child -- their _children_ , he corrected as he tightened his grip around Brianna -- on pointless excursions? He'd have taken her if she truly wanted to go, if she'd just waited a few more hours.

But he knew he wouldn't have. He'd have told her no. _Yer too far gone, Sassenach,_ he heard the phantom conversation play out in his mind. _'Tis no healthy to walk so far. I'll send Fergus out for berries till the bairn comes._ They'd have fought about it, and he still wouldn't have brought her. He knew it, and she'd known it. The house looming up before him, he'd cursed himself, his own Fraser will of steel that had driven her to defy him.

Now, as Lallybroch fell away behind them, anger disintegrated into terror. He had to beat them to the hill. There was no maybe, no try, no second place. Jamie had to reach the stones first.

And once he did, and once Claire was safe, Frank Randall would die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Frank finally Frank'd it all up and they're off to the races! I have the next few chapters pre-written, but I've actually mentally added quite a bit that needs to go in, so I hope to post consistently every few days to a week at most, so stay tuned!
> 
> Thank you as always for reading and commenting and loving this story as much as I do! You all make me want to write every day. So thank you.


	10. Bedtime Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Various Frasers seek the comfort of dreams and stories in the wake of chaos.

**June 25, 1749**

Brianna's sobs rang out through Lallybroch long after Milord had torn from the house. No one could comfort her, not even Fergus. Whatever she had witnessed in the berry garden combined with watching her Da's panicked flight effectively ruined any peace the house may have for some time to come.

Just when her guardians believed she'd quieted down, a shriek would pierce the air or she'd come crying to be held by Auntie Jenny, whining whenever the woman made to put her down or send her off with her cousins. In the end, Jenny left the dinner preparations to Mrs. Crook as she held Brianna on her hip, carrying her and jostling her about the house and speaking soothing Gaelic as she tried to calm the child.

By bedtime, though, an exhausted Bree only hiccuped and whimpered occasionally. With still-red cheeks and puffy eyes, Auntie Jenny led Brianna into the nursery the younger children shared and prepared her for bed. But when the time came to bid goodnight, tears once again threatened to overflow. Fergus, sensing another ear-splitting meltdown in the making, touched Jenny on the arm.

"Auntie," Fergus said as Jenny sensed the same thing, "I can sit with her until she sleeps."

She looked as though she may deny him, but as Brianna fidgeted in her bed, Auntie Jenny nodded and stood to leave, sparing him a kiss on the forehead as she did.

Fergus sat on Brianna's tiny bed, wrapping the smaller child in his arms. Leaning over, he whispered in her ear, "Do you want to go to Mama and Da's room, _ma soeur_?"

The screaming cry that had been building in her chest cut off abruptly. Eyes shining, she nodded.

With a grin, he whispered back, "Wait here quietly, then."

After ensuring that Auntie Jenny had indeed gone back downstairs, Fergus took his sister's tiny hand as they snuck across the landing toward the Laird's room. He shut the door silently behind them, then followed Brianna toward the massive bed.

Stepping into the room felt like a warm embrace from their parents. A sense of peace hung in the air of this room, even with the chaos and heartache of the last few hours. He felt the serenity that permeated the space where Milord and Milady lived and loved, and he knew Brianna did, as well. She climbed into the center of the bed so large it dwarfed her like a tiny pearl in the center of an oyster. Fergus smiled, content for the moment.

He crawled under the bedclothes with her, snuggling up close and inhaled the scents of their parents on the pillows.

"You must remain quiet to stay in here, _ma petite soeur,_ " Fergus whispered. "Auntie would not like us in here."

Brianna nodded, though she still hiccuped from the hours spent inconsolable and crying.

"Then _bonne nuit_ ," he said, closing his eyes to try to sleep.

"No, Fugus," Brianna whispered in that loud, deliberate way young children do. "Tell Da's story."

Exhausted, heartsick himself, Fergus almost didn't have the heart to recite for her the story he now knew to be derived from reality, a story all about the mystical doorway that may soon swallow their mother forever. But looking at Bree's round, golden eyes, he knew he couldn't resist her request. Would hearing the familiar tale soothe her heart, help her feel her Da's presence here even as he galloped further away into the night? If so, then Fergus would grant her that comfort.

He'd heard Milord tell the story many times, knew the words and inflections, the places to stop for Brianna to gasp or ask a question. Licking his lips, he began.

"Far from here," Fergus began in hushed tones, "there is a hill where magic happens. Tall stones there, taller than Milord himself, make a circle, and one in the center has great power."

Brianna's eyes focused on her brother. She sucked on one thumb while the fingers of her other hand searched for Fergus's curls and twisted them in her fist over and over, settling down to enjoy the story. She'd twist them until they knotted and pulled at his scalp. But he didn't mind. 

"One day, a fairy princess came upon the hill and touched the stone, and it brought her to a faraway place she'd never been before."

"Where?" Brianna whispered.

"To her prince," Fergus intoned with a contented smirk. "You see, the prince and princess came from different lands, places so far apart that you cannot travel between them by horse or even ship. They could only reach each other through the magic stone.

"When the princess arrived, though, she was confused because this land was very different from her own, but the prince helped her learn. And the princess longed to help people. She had a healing touch, you see."

"Like Mama?"

How often he'd heard Brianna ask that very question. Every time, in fact. But tonight, with Milady's whereabouts unknown, the innocent words put a lump in his throat. Brianna, though, seemed to think nothing of it. Did she sense that this was, in fact, the story of her parents meeting? Did the comfort of that knowledge outweigh the sadness that had engulfed her since her disastrous trip out to the gardens? Hoping not to incite more tears, Fergus simply nodded and cleared his throat before continuing.

"As the princess healed so many ailments and told the prince all about her own home, he saw that the princess had a gentle heart, filled with love for all people and a strength to take their pains away. And that's how he fell in love with her."

Sometimes, Milady would break in here with her own addendum. Whenever she did, Milord's eyes would glow and his lips would turn up, slowly, into a smile. Love would burn from his face, so intense that Fergus often looked away as his parents gazed at one another for just a moment before Milord would continue on.

So Fergus included it, as well. "And the princess saw how brave and kind the prince was, how he fought for those too small for defend themselves. He told jokes and made the princess feel at home, even when she felt lonely. And so she fell in love with him, too."

"And they get married?" Brianna prompted with a toothy grin.

" _Oui_ ," Fergus said. "They got married, and their love grew every day."

The next part of the story involved Faith, how the prince and princess welcomed a daughter, a gift from God to bless their union, who'd gone to live with her mother's people, the fairies, laughing and dancing forever. But tonight, with Milady's abduction still so fresh, Fergus couldn't bring himself to tell it, the story dropping off suddenly as heat rose in his throat and stung behind his eyes. Thankfully, Brianna didn't seem to notice.

Showing his own fear would only scare Brianna again. He let silence fall, and after a while his eyelids drooped. Just as sleep rose up to claim him, Brianna whispered, "Is Da and Mama comin' home, Fugus?"

Eyes flashing open, he looked at Brianna next to him. She'd never looked so tiny, so fragile. Not even three years old yet, but the sorrow in her eyes seemed ancient.

For all his conviction that Milord couldn't fail, doubt niggled at his mind. Visions plagued him of Milady disappearing through stone, of Milord coming back and dissolving into the earth in the yard from the pain of it. Because a part of Fergus understood that neither could go on without the other. _I kent I needed her like I needed air_ , he'd told Fergus that day by the millpond.

"Just like the prince is strong and can fight any man," Fergus whispered, "so can Milord. I have seen him fight, and he has never lost a battle. And he loves Milady just like the prince loves the princess. So, you see, _ma soeur_ , this is just another battle."

"So he'll win?"

And just as his father had done when Fergus feared that Milady would leave, he now spoke the words he desperately hoped would be true. Fergus nodded. " _Oui_. He will win, and they will come home."

#

**June 27, 1749**

_Jamie was running, and he was laughing. Fergus ran in front of him, Brianna on his back with her arms holding on around his neck. Her hair ran farther down her back, her arms and legs both longer, too. And her smile when she turned to see how close he was getting stopped his heart._

_"He's gainin', Fergus!" she cried out. "Faster,_ mon frere _!"_

_He noticed then that Fergus was taller, too, nearly as tall as Claire now, and lean. Dark curls had mellowed into longer waves, the boyhood roundness of his cheeks diminished, fading but not quite gone._

_Grinning and pushing himself faster, Jamie caught them up and easily wrapped his own arms around the torsos of both children. They collapsed in a heap, cackling like fools._

_"I thought you were supposed to be repairing the leak in the barn roof," came a jovial voice behind them, and Jamie raised his head to see Claire walking up the path. Jumping up, he strode toward his wife._

_"Aye," he answered, dusting himself off as he walked. "We did, then Bree came out and jumped on Fergus's back and...well, we got a bit distracted. So 'tis her fault, ye ken."_

_The smile on her face set his heart afire, and he leaned in for a quick kiss. Pulling away, he looked to the lad on her hip. "And how's the patient feelin' today, then?" he asked, pulling the boy into his own arms and planting a kiss against his temple._

_"Much better," Claire said, and Jamie heard the relief in her tone. "No more fever, and he hasn't coughed all morning."_

_"Och, we kent ye were a braw lad, wee William," he said proudly, bouncing his son, making the boy smile and clap. "And wi' yer mam's healin' hands, no invisible beasties had a chance on you."_

_Claire rolled her eyes but said nothing, her arms crossed loosely in front of her. Smirking at his wife, he turned with William and walked toward Bree and Fergus, still playing in the grass. William's deep brown hair, slower to grow than his sister's had been at that age, had finally begun to curl and looked as though it may one day be as wild as his mother's. The thought made Jamie euphoric._

_"Do ye wanna go play, lad?" he whispered in William's ear._

_"Aye, Da! Down now!" the toddler exclaimed, wriggling to be set down._

_With a last kiss on his son's cheek, he set the lad down in the grass and watched him run toward the other children playing. Jamie straightened, and Claire stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his middle from behind as they watched William climb on Bree's back as she had so recently been on Fergus's. His hands rested on hers at his waist._

_"Yer sure he's well enough to be runnin' about wi' the others, then?" Jamie asked, turning to look at his wife. As he did, the scenery changed as it so often does in dreams. Gone were the fields behind Lallybroch. They were in the trees now, far from home but familiar somehow. Faint whispers of a nearby creek drifted to him over the children's laughter. And Claire now sat on a boulder shaped like the bow of a ship, leaning back on her hands. The same smile graced her lips as she answered his question._

_"I'm sure," she replied before pressing her lips to his cheek. "He'll tire quickly, but by tomorrow--"_

"Up ye get, lad."

Murtagh's voice broke into the dream, jolting Jamie to consciousness. Sitting up, the events of past days rushed back and he groaned. He frowned at Murtagh. Knowing as he did the need to press on, he wanted desperately to finish the dream he'd had. No more than a moment was spared for his grumpiness, though, before he stood and helped his godfather gather up their minimal camp so they could keep riding.

Jamie mulled over the dream again and again as they packed and then began riding. He hadn't dreamed of the new baby yet, and he wondered if this dream was like those he'd had of Brianna in the weeks before her arrival. When the red-headed lass had come to him in his sleep back then, he'd believed them to be the normal creation of his mind anticipating his child's arrival. But when he'd later noticed the birthmark behind her ear, the same one he'd kissed on his dream-child's neck, he knew that the visions granted to him had been borne of truth. For some reason, he could never bring himself to tell Claire. Perhaps it hadn't ever come up, or perhaps he wanted to keep the subliminal experiences to himself. If he would never feel the miracle of his child growing from his body, he'd savor the early peeks he got of their lives.

The William of his dream could be the result of his worry for Claire and their child, a comforting tale his mind concocted in the dark hours as he raced to keep them both from being lost forever.

Or it, too, could be borne of truth.

Likely, it would be some time before he had an answer to that question. But for now, as he pushed Donas hard down the road with the sun creeping up above the horizon, he chose to believe that he'd one day meet the brown-haired lad of his dream, that he'd watch him toddle toward his siblings and run about in the grass behind Lallybroch as he and Claire looked on.

Because if that were true, it would mean he made it. That he'd saved them both. So he chose hope, and that hope propelled him forward as day broke behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading and for your lovely comments! 
> 
> I'm heavily retooling the next section as I wasn't happy with how it came out in the first draft. So I hope to keep posting regularly, at least once per week. But if I finish sooner, you may get a surprise posting. ;)


	11. Surprising Ally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Claire and Frank draw closer to Craigh na Dun, they meet with unexpected company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes for this chapter. There will be a familiar name here...I cannot remember if Claire and this person meet in the books or not (I should reread soon), but I know they do in the show. HOWEVER, for the purposes of this fic, they have not met before, but I am drawing from the show!character as my inspiration. 
> 
> Also a reminder that Frank and Claire left Lallybroch on the afternoon of June 25, 1749. 
> 
> I've been struggling with this next bit as it's happened in my head ten different ways and I was unsure which direction I really wanted to go, and I couldn't start posting the coming chapters till I'd chosen a path. Now that I've outlined the upcoming chapters adequately, I'll hopefully get the next few chapters up over the course of the coming week. I'm still writing my way through some of it, but I hope it'll be worth any wait. 
> 
> As always, THANK YOU ALL for reading, for your lovely comments. You have no idea what it means to have your support and kind words fill my inbox. Thank you thank you thank you!
> 
> All characters belong to Diana Gabaldon.

**June 28, 1749**

**2:10 p.m.**

Nearly seventy-two hours since Claire had left Brianna in the berry garden, and they had walked for what felt like nearly all of them. Frank hadn't allowed them to stop at all the first night, fearing Jamie would be too close behind on their trail. As dawn broke the next morning, he'd finally relented, letting her stop and rest, her feet and back aching, her hand rubbing her stomach as she tried to rest and soothe herself. Frank kept a close eye on her as she tried to sleep, but he needn't have worried. She was in too much pain and far too tired to make an escape attempt.

They'd slept for a few hours, Claire hardly seeming to doze off before jerking awake, every creak of the trees or sigh of the wind a beacon of hope that Jamie was nearby.

By mid morning, Frank stood her to her feet, and they pressed on. Somehow, the pause in their journey made her feet and knees ache more, her eyes droop harder. They walked slower by necessity as Claire's strength waned. Water they drank wherever they could find it. As for food, Frank passed her a bannock on the first afternoon and the next morning, which exhausted his food stores. And since staying in one place long enough to set a snare or even fish was apparently out of the question, the next two nights and days passed in growing hunger. They'd walk till deep in the dark, Claire stumbling over roots and stones with numb, exhausted feet until Frank relented and they'd rest a few more hours until daybreak. Then he'd pull her back up and continue.

They didn't speak much. At her questions on the first afternoon, Frank had briefly explained how he'd traveled through the stones but only ended up eight days in the future, how he knew it was a sign that he still needed to bring her home. Frank shared how he'd spent the intervening months hiding on the property, watching the home and biding his time until he could make his move.Claire had wondered how much of the manic energy that radiated from him and terrified her so had come from those months alone in the woods and how much had built up over five years searching for her in the future. Queasy with disgust and horror, Claire didn't ask anything further and Frank didn't volunteer.

The time passed in silence, and Claire tried to focus on moving forward as well as feeling the movement of her child. He seemed active enough still, even days later, and each kick and roll and jab she felt from her womb helped her breathe easier. Luckily, she'd been well fed during her time at Lallybroch, and she prayed that that would keep wee William nourished until she was home again.

As hour after hour passed and her feet and legs cried out in protest, the irony didn't escape Claire. _Well, you wanted to walk, some time out of the house_ , she told herself sardonically. _Be careful what you wish for._

Now, as they made their way into the third full day of their trek, Frank spoke for the first time.

"Two children," he said distractedly, almost as though he hadn't meant her to hear it.

Hands on her stomach, having just felt a sharp elbow gliding across her midsection as she shuffled along, she looked at him. "What?" she asked, nearly panting in the exhaustion of keeping herself upright.

"Fraser said you'd had two children and were carrying the third," Frank expanded after only a moment's hesitation. "The boy is too old to be yours. Where's the other child?"

Why did he care? Why was he asking? Did he think opening up to each other would engender some intimacy between them, or could he simply not stand to not know? Claire swallowed the lump that appeared in her throat, looking down at her belly. "She was born too soon," Claire whispered. "She's buried in Paris."

Frank didn't respond. Didn't ask her name. Didn't inquire as to the details of why she'd come too early or how she'd died or how Claire had survived. They marched on.

The sun was high, hidden even as it was by the foliage. Even in the shade of the trees and the heavy cloud cover, Claire found herself constantly covered in a sheen of sweat as they made their way in silence. In her fatigue and inner turmoil, she didn't notice the snatches of red through the trees ahead of her nor the rumble of conversation. Only when Frank grasped her arm sharply did she look up and see them, blood draining from her face.

Redcoats.

"Not a word or you'll bury this child, too," Frank hissed in her ear as he released her arm. She cut her eyes at his casual reference to her lost child, but nodded.

A group of half a dozen Redcoats sat huddled around a campfire, lunch preparations underway. Apparently deciding it was too risky to try and edge around them, Frank guided her straight toward the men, who stood as the couple emerged. The soldiers were wary, eyes narrowed and hands on sword hilts and pistols.

"Good day, gentlemen," Frank called out, and they all seemed to visibly relax at hearing his English accent.

"Ah, it's not often we encounter a fellow Englishman in these parts," one man said, tipping his hat to Frank and taking a step forward. "Major Benjamin Adams of His Majesty's Army," he said by way of introduction.

"Frank Randall, my wife Claire," he said gesturing toward her. Claire kept her head down. She doubted she'd recognize any of the soldiers who'd ever invaded Lallybroch, but she wasn't sure whether or not she wanted them to recognize her if they had.

"Randall, you say?" the major responded. "I thought you had a familiar face. Any relation to Captain Jonathan Randall?"

Claire's head shot up at that, but no one seemed to notice as Frank nodded amicably. "Oh, yes, he's -- he was a cousin of mine."

The major nodded appreciatively. "Well, it's an honor to make your acquaintance. And my deepest condolences for your loss, then. Another good man cut down by the Scottish savages."

 _Think of your child_ , Claire told herself, literally biting her tongue to keep from jumping in as Frank offered his thanks. _If Frank doesn't kill him, these soldiers will if you speak up now._

"What brings you to these parts then, Mr. Randall? Seems an ill time to be traveling rough with your wife so far along."

Frank chuckled and began to weave some story about visiting a minister friend of his and being robbed on their travels back home to England. The major clucked and scoffed, mumbling about Scottish ingrates and barbarism running amok in the country. Claire tuned them both out, instead taking stock of the men before her. As Frank's story dragged on, the unfamiliar faces ranged from mild interest to boredom; the major, for his part, seemed to hang on every word Frank spoke. But one man seated on a log behind the fire caught her attention. His brows were furrowed, eyes darting between Claire and Frank, assessing.

He made eye contact with Claire then, and she stifled her own gasp just in time to avoid detection from Frank. The man, blonde hair tied neatly back and green eyes keen, seemed as though he were trying to speak to her with his gaze.

 _Are you all right?_ it asked.

Desperately, she hoped he could read the response in hers.

_No, I'm not._

"Well, you must certainly join us for a meal, Mr. and Mrs. Randall," Major Adams cooed. Something about his overly gregarious behavior set Claire on edge -- further on edge, anyway.

Frank, likewise, attempted to skirt the invitation. "Oh, we couldn't possibly impose. --"

"Never an imposition to host two lovely countrymen for meal and conversation," Major Adams insisted. "We're nearly back to our base to restock our provisions anyway, so no need to worry about the men going hungry."

Major Adams gestured for them to take a seat as his underlings hurried to finish lunch preparations. The soldier on the log stood then in that straight-backed posture so ingrained into British officers, one arm folded behind his back.

"I wonder if the lady would care to refresh herself by the stream while food is readied," he said in a deep, clear voice. "It's only just there. I'd be happy to escort you while your husband and the major continue to talk."

She swallowed, glancing at Frank. He carefully kept his gaze neutral. Walking away could be a risk, but since the soldier had broached the suggestion, not her...

"Yes," she said. "I thank you...?"

"Lieutenant Jeremy Foster, Madam," he responded with a slight bow as he gestured for her to precede him.

Neither spoke another word until they reached the stream. It was only yards from the camp, really, not even far enough to be out of Frank's vision, which seemed to placate him as he turned back to speak with the major. So Claire and the lieutenant spoke softly and quickly, faces turned from the group.

"You must help me, Lieutenant," Claire whispered, dipping to the water and splashing her face. "My name is Claire _Fraser_ , Lady Broch Tuarach. My husband is James Fraser, Laird Broch Tuarach. He will be searching for me."

"You're married to a Scot?" he responded incredulously. Whatever he'd been expecting, that apparently hadn't been it.

"Yes," Claire said, biting off the rest of her snide retort, casting a momentary glance sideways at him. "But we had no part in the Rising and have kept to ourselves ever since. We've both signed our oaths to the king and want only to live in peace.

"Mr. Randall abducted me from my home three days ago. I know my husband can't be far behind, but we've barely stopped walking since we left." Claire looked down at her belly pointedly as she washed her hands in the water. "I worry about my child, Lieutenant, if he continues to push us forward as he has. Please," she said, looking at him with tears in her eyes. "Please help me."

The soldier clenched his jaw and chanced a look back at the camp, as did Claire. Frank and Major Adams were still deep in conversation, not sparing a glance in their direction.

Foster bent down, cupping water and rinsing his own face. Claire noticed he kept a respectable distance between them, enough that Frank may not even believe they could speak comfortably without being overheard; luckily, Frank would be wrong.

"I had the displeasure of encountering Captain Randall before he perished in the Rising," Foster said softly, his deep voice just barely reaching her ears over the gentle stirrings of the stream. "My major may not agree with me, but I could never stand in the same room with the man without wanting to crawl out of my own skin."

Despite the circumstances, Claire felt her mouth twitch into a smile. The lieutenant proved to be an insightful man, perceptive in a way so few people she'd met in this century were. The smirk faded as she sighed. "I had a similar experience with the captain," Claire murmured. "And let's just say the family resemblance goes beyond the physical."

A moment of silence hung between them as Claire continued to bring up the water, washing her arms and running dripping fingers through her curls, which had grown wilder in the days marching through the Scottish woods.

"How would I know your husband if I came across him?" Foster muttered, cupping some more water to drink as he listened.

Claire breathed a sigh of relief. "He's tall, taller than six feet, with curly red hair."

"And to ensure he's who you say?" Foster whispered.

Thinking quick, Claire whispered, "Our eldest child is named Faith Fraser. She was stillborn in Paris five years ago. Before we returned to Scotland, we left an apostle spoon with the image of St. Andrew at her grave. A bit of Scotland for her in France, he'd said," Claire finished with a tremulous voice. 

Foster nodded once, some decision waging war behind his eyes. The fighting stopped a second later, and he sighed.

"I cannot help you escape from camp," he whispered, standing. Claire followed suit. "No one in my platoon will believe an English woman traveling with an Englishman is, in fact, married to a Scot. But if I come across your husband, I'll pass on whatever message I can."

After a few more hushed exchanges, Claire and Foster returned to the group to take their seats for lunch. Foster gathered for her a plate with a few bites of the roasted chicken and a bit of bread. Eating slowly, savoring each bite, Claire felt some measure of life return to her body as her stomach stopped growling for the first time in days. Not full, by any means, but not quite starving anymore.

Whenever Jamie found her and brought her home, she vowed to omit the part of the story where she felt thankful for a Redcoat.

#

Frank and Major Adams continued to chat inconsequentially, but the rest of the group sat in silence as they finished their meal before the men stood to clear camp. The last vestiges of the midday sojourn disappeared into wagons and rucksacks. Frank jumped up, waving to catch the major's attention, but the man only smiled. "Not to fret, Mr. Randall, I was coming to speak with you directly."

"Yes," Frank said with a small bow of the head. "We are much obliged for your hospitality."

"Then let me be further hospitable," the major interrupted him, and Frank winced as though struck. "Our base is set up in Inverness, only a few more hours away from here. We should arrive well before dusk." Another weighty glance from the major fell on Claire. She fought the urge to gag. "We'd wish for you both to rest the night as guests of the crown and refresh yourselves before continuing your journey tomorrow."

As unenthused as Claire felt at the idea of biding with a platoon of Redcoats, Frank seemed nearly as reluctant. "Oh, that's too kind, Major," Frank said, his smile faltering. "But we are actually meeting some family of mine outside the town to continue our travels back to England, and due to our misfortunes on the road are somewhat behind in our rendezvous. We should have met them days ago. I'm only hoping they haven't moved on without us."

Major Adams's sickly sweet smile grew, and he inquired, "Well, just where are you meant to meet with your group, Mr. Randall?"

"Craigh Na Dun," he answered. The words sent a shockwave through Claire. Even knowing their end destination, hearing the name spoken aloud sent chills skittering down her entire body as though just the words could whisk her away as surely as the stones themselves.

"Really?" the major asked, wrinkling his nose. "Why on earth would you arrange to meet at such a place, sir?"

Frank exhaled a frustrated laugh, shrugging. "Well, in truth, sir, the location was not of my own choosing."

 _If only God would smite you down for bald-faced lies_ , Claire mused. _That would solve a lot of problems._

"Hmph," the major grunted. "Well, at least allow us to offer you guidance and safe passage as you make your way toward Inverness," he tried again. "Mr. Randall, in truth, you both look ghastly. And with the countryside so...unwelcoming of English gentility such as ourselves, I take it as a personal responsibility to ensure your family's well-being as you go on your way."

Frank paused, Claire assumed weighing his options. Dread took over her body, and she felt cold. On foot, she could slow Frank at least a little, giving Jamie more time to catch up. Riding in the wagon with the soldiers not only meant she couldn't slow him down, but they'd actually reach their destination sooner, possibly before dusk. Claire could practically hear her own teeth grinding, but Frank, likely coming to the same conclusions, seemed to cheer up. "Why, thank you, Major. Your kindness humbles us both."

"Splendid," Major Adams said, clapping his hands together, "Now, Mr. and Mrs. Randall, you should be comfortable enough in the wagon. We're just coming back from collecting a round of levies, so it may be tight among the supplies, but it will only be a few more hours until we reach the town."

A tight smile across her lips, Claire nodded and Frank thanked the major yet again.

Frank clumsily helped Claire to board the wagon then thankfully kept a few inches between them and remained silent as they embarked. The child in Claire's womb punched her in the ribs, making her gasp. Besides a fleeting glance at her, Frank ignored it.

She leaned forward and crossed her arms, pressing them onto her knees before her. Gripping her forearms, her fingers felt the thin rod of the dual-tined fork she'd nicked from the lunch dishes hidden beneath her sleeve. Not much, but something.

Even after the small portion of lunch, Claire still felt the effects of three days of nearly nonstop walking and lack of sustenance. Exhaustion so strong her muscles vibrated from the prolonged exertion made even sitting a monumental task. As the wagon took off at a moderate pace that jostled her painfully, sleep threatened to take her. She fought it off, though. The closer they drew to the stones, the more likely she'd need to be ready to run or fight, and she couldn't afford to lose her bearings now or she'd lose everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo I know nothing about the military, much less Scottish 18th century military. This is what I'm using for ranks and such, with Major Adams outranking Lieutenant Foster but still relatively close in rank. If it's wrong....my bad. Just roll with it.. ;) Thank you all again!
> 
> https://www.bbc.co.uk/academy/en/articles/art20130702112133708


	12. Helping Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire finds inspiration from an unlikely source.

Following the wide path through the trees, the caravan made steady progress toward town. Frank and Claire exchanged not a word. Claire, for her part, kept her eyes peeled for chances to escape. None of the soldiers spoke with them either, most riding too far away for comfortable conversation. Major Adams headed the group with Lieutenant Foster at his side. The others created a perimeter around the wagon.

Whether the silence among so many people irked him or he'd finally gathered the courage to speak, Frank startled Claire by breaking the silence.

"You've met Jonathan Randall," he asked her in a low voice.

"Yes," she hissed.

Frank paused a second. By his face, he was debating whether or not to continue. The historian's curiosity won out. "And what was he like?" he asked.

For the first time since Claire had lain eyes on him at Lallybroch so many months ago, he sounded almost like the Frank that had lived within her mind for the last five years. Academic interest and enthusiasm for first-hand knowledge he was never meant to attain brightened his eyes and brought color to his wan visage. The cold sharpness of his voice had softened, as well, as he awaited her response.

Part of her considered not answering, letting him writhe in mental torment that she'd met his ancestral hero and he hadn't. She certainly didn't feel like engaging in conversation with him, even if it may have distracted her from the growing unrest in her mind and the churning of her stomach. But a louder, more rational part of her mind wondered if revealing just what kind of man Frank descended from (albeit somewhat indirectly) may have any kind of sway on current events. If she told him of all the evil, despicable, demented proclivities of Black Jack Randall, would he see himself reflected in them? Would it startle him into changing course?

She herself had avoided acknowledging the parallels between the two men, so alike in appearance. Similarities that had not existed when Claire last knew Frank. Alas, with each step he forced her further from home, each time he fingered the knife tucked in his belt or grunted at her to pick up her speed even as she tripped and stumbled through the woods, she saw more and more of Black Jack Randall within him. Lacking the absolute revelry of pain, maybe, but the selfishness, the violent means of achieving his ends...

Yes, the Randall genes were stronger than she'd ever appreciated until now.

"Truthfully?" she finally answered beneath her breath, unwilling for the soldiers around her to hear any disparagement of their fallen brother in arms. "Vile. Perverted. Sadistic. The world became a better place the day he stopped breathing."

Chancing a glance at Frank's face, Claire noted with pleasure the deflated look in his eyes. So she continued. "He was actually the first person I saw after I traveled here. You look remarkably alike. Passable as brothers if not twins, even. I thought he _was_ you, actually." She swallowed at the memory of that first encounter. "He attacked me, tried to rape me. Murtagh, Jamie's godfather, rescued me, and the Mackenzies offered me shelter."

"Right, you mentioned that before," Frank snapped, eyes turned to focus on the road receding behind them.

"You asked," Claire pressed. "I could lie, tell you he was a charming rake who caused harmless mischief in his adventures across the Highlands. But you wanted to know." She dropped her voice again. "He was a torturer and a rapist and a murderer and a liar. The price on Jamie's head you found evidence of, the reason he was nearly hanged?" Claire's tone grew angry. "That was because of a lie Black Jack _fucking_ Randall told to cover up a murder _he_ committed."

Claire stopped, panting as her heart raced. Even in her increasingly frenzied state, she selected her words with care. She wouldn't divulge the worst things Black Jack had done to their family. Certainly not his singleminded mission to break Jamie down into nothing, a goal he'd chased with near giddiness. She wouldn't breathe a word of that. Claire would give Frank no ammunition to delude himself into believing that Jamie could be beaten or broken by anyone, much less him. No, Frank would continue to view Jamie as Claire did: an imposing Viking warrior, strength beyond measure making him an unstoppable force with a red-hot ire one must be insane to stoke. But where Claire sheltered in the safety this knowledge presented, assured of his protection and the tenderness that lay beneath, she'd let Frank roil in dread and imagine how any physical confrontation between them would inevitably end.

Even so, memories of those awful weeks after Wentworth flooded her mind.Weeks when she'd feared for her husband's soul with every cell in her being, when only a brutal Hail Mary of a plan had brought him back from a darkness that had nearly consumed him.

Fury reddened her face and made her voice tremble. She took a breath, forcing herself to keep her voice low. The seething hatred did not lessen, though, as Frank seemed to shrink away from her as she spoke through gritted teeth. "Nearly every person in my life here, myself included, has been hurt by that bastard. I knew he'd die at Culloden, and I celebrated once he had. He didn't just revel in power. He wanted power because he could use it to cause pain, his one, true passion.

"So there you are, Frank," Claire said in as calm a tone as she could muster. "All the while Black Jack tormented us wearing your face, I told myself againand again how different you were, how you had nothing else of him. But the family resemblance is stronger than I ever realized, as Randalls seem so intent upon tearing apart and destroying my family."

"You were my family first, _Mrs. Randall,_ " Frank seethed in a whisper. "I'm tearing apart your family? _He_ tore apart _ours_."

" _He_ didn't," Claire retorted. " _I_ did. I chose. And Jamie is more man than you will ever be because he let me choose." Tears of fury and fear and heartache clogged her throat. Every angry thought she'd bitten down in the preceding days came forth, washing over her like a boiling hot wave. "Even when he believed I wouldn't choose him, he loves me enough that he would have seen me gone forever before forcing me to stay."

Tears escaped. The moisture cooled her flushed cheeks. "Whatever love we had, Frank, is gone. It was gone the moment you took my choice away for your own selfish desires."

Silence met her words. She couldn't bring herself to look at him to see how they landed. Instead, she watched the trail fall away behind them.

With every jolt of the wagon, Claire silenced another fear.

_What if Jamie didn't make it in time?_

_What if he couldn't fight off the soldiers?_

_What if the child came too soon or what if Frank harmed him or what if he didn't make it through the stones with her? Would she just turn up in the future, the life that had rested for nearly seven months beneath her heart suddenly gone?_

_What if she never saw Brianna or Fergus again?_

_What if she watched Jamie die as he fought to free her?_

Claire refused to allow any more tears to flow. For if they began, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to stem them. But more nightmarish scenarios played across her mind as the sun, muted through the ever present Scottish cloud cover, dipped lower in the sky. Thought after thought flashed through her mind.

A pit. She was in a pit, and each horrifying fear, each intrusive _what if_ landed on her like a shovelful of earth. She was choking on them. Claire fought to breathe normally, but her eyes burned as despair threatened to bury her alive, suffocating her and leaving nothing behind.

The wagon hit another stone, bouncing its occupants so thoroughly Claire actually left the seat and released a grunt as she landed again. She gripped the seat beneath her and pursed her lips. With every ounce of hope she had left, she willed her mind to shut down.

Jamie _would_ find her, and she _would_ go home. It was that simple. She repeated the mantra in her mind, blocking any other thought from making itself known. Numbness overtook her despite her conviction to remain on alert. Hours passed as the shadows grew longer and the air cooled.

The outskirts of Inverness snuck up on her that way. For so long, nothing but trees surrounded them. Then suddenly, the glade they passed through seemed all too familiar. She and Jamie had camped here after Cranesmuir. Tales of childhood exploits at Lallybroch told over a crackling fire and a supper of roasted rabbit. The creek wouldn't be far. And the stones not much further.

Too close. They were too close to the stones. Christ, how had she let them get so close?

Heat spread across her chest as her heart sped up, panic flooding her veins. They were perhaps only a mile or so away from that dreaded hill. In all likelihood, they'd arrive in time for the last of the sun's rays to fall upon them before they devoured her. She knew Jamie had to be coming for her. Knew he had to be close. But if he trailed even half an hour behind at this point, it would be too far.

Frank had dragged her through the woods for days. Stalked her. Threatened her and her children. Laid a claim to her like she was an item up at auction, as though the desperation with which he had stolen her counted as the highest price and the trip through the stones, the final bang of the auctioneer's gavel. And she'd let him for fear of losing her child.

But she couldn't let him win.

Palm pressed tight to her belly, she felt a tiny, distinct hand push against her through the fabric of her skirts. Her breath caught in her chest.

 _Thank you, wee William,_ she thought, returning the pressure as she made up her mind. Sending up a prayer for the safety of her child, she cleared her throat.

"Major Adams," she called, and the caravan came to a slow stop. The man turned his horse about, cantering to stand beside the wagon with a look of barely concealed annoyance. "Forgive me," she muttered, trying hard to keep any syrupy sweetness or overly friendly tone from her voice; she couldn't risk Frank picking up on her new (probably bad) plan, and any positivity she showed would do it. "But with the bouncing on the road, I need a few moments of privacy, if that wouldn't be too much trouble."

"Of course, madam," the major intoned, his own words dripping with feigned geniality.

Before he spoke any further, Claire made her way to the end of the wagon and climbed down without Frank's assistance. The major opened his mouth to protest, but Claire assured him she wouldn't wander far and would need only a short time to herself. Keeping her eyes turned from Frank, she hoped her glass face was opaque enough to keep them fooled.

Her own pounding heart muted the sounds of men dismounting their horses to stretch their legs. Under the guise of searching for a secluded location, she meandered through the trees. After a moment, she peeked over her shoulder to see that only glimpses of red were visible through the greenery.

She turned, and she ran.

Dusk was upon them. If she were lucky, they will have lost the light with which to track her path by the time they began searching in earnest. Frank wouldn't stop, of course. She didn't expect that. No part of her expected to outrun them.

She only needed to stall them.

Feet and legs aching, a stitch in her side as her breath came in gasps. She couldn't focus on how exhausted she was, how hungry and frightened. Hand beneath her swollen belly, she jogged as fast as she could as she sought to put distance between herself and the men behind her. Thankfully, she heard no sound of pursuit. Not yet, at least.

Orange beams through the trees faded, and she kept moving. She found the stream and, with exceeding care, picked her way across in the final moments of light. She reached the opposite shore with not a moment to spare as darkness finally settled around her.

And as shouts reached her ears.

Rushing along the rocky shore with eyes peeled, Claire searched for any spot she could possibly hide. She pushed her protesting muscles to move faster in the now-full darkness. In the dark, she lost all sense of which direction she traveled and only hoped not to get herself lost beyond finding.

Then she spotted it. Across on the opposite shore, a small embankment only three feet tall and five or six feet wide harbored an outcropping of rock, a flat piece extending over top like a ledge. The shape of the rock, jutting out over the shore, created a small opening, naught but a pitch black shadow from here. From the looks of it, it would be invisible even if one stood directly over top of it.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ," Claire breathed. Could she risk crossing again in darkness? As another vague shout reached her ear, she knew she had no choice. Cloud cover obscured any helpful moonlight as she scanned for a way to the other side. But, on the other hand, the men whose voices echoed faintly to her were just as much in the dark as she. That was something, at least.

She found another path of stones just a few yards down and began to work her way across.

Halfway, her foot slipped. Her heart dropped to her stomach as she felt herself fall into the chilled water. The cold overwhelmed her, stinging her skin and shocking her mind. As she descended, she managed to grasp onto the stone and hold on, keeping her from drifting away or sinking. She held on, trying to recover. How was the water still this cold in June? A light breeze blew, chilling her. If she waited much longer, her fingers would be too numb to hold on any longer.

Shivering, teeth chattering, she pulled herself back onto the stone and, heart pounding, crawled her way from stone to stone until she landed on the far shore. Breathing heavy with closed eyes, Claire lay immobile for a moment before setting to work again.

She clambered to her feet, still trembling from adrenaline and cold, and felt her way in the dark to the hole she'd spied. Finding it moments later, she dropped to her knees and scooted in as far as she could, curling protectively around her bump to give it whatever warmth she could. Sounds that reached her in the tiny burrow were hazy, muffled.

Bloody hell, she was tired.

Resting her head against the stone wall behind her, Claire closed her eyes. Blackness fell over her as she drifted away, arms clutching her stomach.

"Don't worry, love," she muttered before finally succumbing. "Your Da will find us. He's coming."

#

Dammit, he shouldn't have let her go.

She'd avoided his eye as she climbed from the wagon, but he'd let her go anyway. Lulled into false security, perhaps, by the presence of the officers. Surely she didn't believe she'd escape under all their noses, Frank assured himself.

And thus he'd let her walk away.

As he picked carefully through the dark with Major Adams by his side, he kicked himself for it again and again. They were so close, dammit. Couldn't be more than an hour from Craigh na Dun. But he'd let the same carelessness that had thwarted his first attempt to bring her home overtake him, believing himself having won already.

"Don't worry, Mr. Randall," the major murmured beside him as they walked. "We'll find her and you'll be on your way before you know it."

Frank grunted in acknowledgment but said nothing. Major Adams, not to be dissuaded in his supposed comfort, carried on.

"And should she try to run back to the Scottish barbarian, we'll know where to fetch them, won't we?"

Again, Frank nodded but did not reply. His eyes, straining in the dark, sought any sign that Claire had trampled through. Frustrated as he felt, Frank sighed with relief that he'd thought to provide himself some insurance against Fraser's possible arrival.

_Sitting near the campfire as Claire and the lieutenant refreshed themselves near the stream, Major Adams turned to him with the sneer endemic to the pompous upper crust of society. "So, truly, Mr. Randall, what brings you and your wife to such a remote area of the highlands?" When Frank looked at him blankly, the major continued, "Your wife should really never play cards. You're a decent liar yourself, but her face gives away lies she's not even telling."_

_He gritted his teeth together, casting a cautious look to the major. But rather than stern or accusatory, the man looked at him with a knowing glint in his eye, a measure of sympathy even, perhaps. Frank could insist that his story were true, but perhaps there was an opportunity here to give him an upper hand where Fraser was involved._

_"My apologies, Major, for the dishonesty," Frank started, looking at his hands in a show of remorse or embarrassment. "I only mean to preserve my wife's reputation."_

_"Oh?"_

_Frank swallowed. "Yes, sir. The truth is..." He swallowed again. "The truth of it is some time ago, my wife ran away to be with another man. A Scot, actually."_

_The major made a sound of distaste before Frank continued on._

_"I probably should have just let her go and moved on with my life," Frank said, hitting closer to the truth than he'd truly intended. "But she's my wife, and for all she's put me through, I do love her. So I searched and finally found where the bastard lived. An estate a few days away from here, Broch Tuarach." The major made no sign he recognized the name. "Anyway," Frank murmured, looking back at his hands. "I came to bring her home, and that's what I intend to do."_

_Major Adams sat silent for a moment, eyes on his fellow soldiers milling about, preparing the food. With a hmph, the major shook his head. "Women," he muttered with no shortage of exasperation. "Soft-minded and impetuous, the lot of them." He looked to Frank, who nodded his agreement. "I am quite sorry for the troubles your wife has caused you, Mr. Randall."_

_"Thank you," Frank responded. "All we'd like now is to return home and have our child in peace."_

_A raised eyebrow, but no response. The major didn't inquire as to how long ago Claire's flight had been -- and, by deduction, whose child she carried -- and Frank found himself grateful he wouldn't have to speak the words aloud._

_That the child wasn't, in fact, his._

_The thought grated him, that she'd carried Fraser's babes but not his own. That she'd never carry his own children. One of his distractions in the first years of Claire's absence came in the form of assessing his own fertility. Even at the time, the reason why he chased the answers he did eluded him. He had no intentions of taking another wife. Perhaps, as the months and then years passed with no word from Claire, Frank wanted to assure himself that, should she never return, he wouldn't have to be totally alone. He_ could _have another wife if he chose, he_ could _have children and create a shadow of the family he'd dreamed of for so long with her. Even if he never did, knowing that the option was there, perhaps, kept parts of himself together that were desperately trying to fall apart._

_Of course, he wouldn't be that lucky._

Sterile _._

_Such a sharp-sounding word, nearly as sharp as those shards of himself that shattered and scattered upon hearing it._

_There would be no little Franks running about, no girls with brown hair and eyes. Not with Claire. Not with anyone._

_Still, having Claire home would be enough. And he could learn to love the child, he believed, despite its father. He could try, anyway._

_Claire and the lieutenant approached with stony faces, and the major said not another word about the matter._

Another hour spent combing the dark woods brought them no closer to finding Claire. They met back up with the rest of the platoon at the wagon, where Major Adams doled out orders: Lieutenant Foster and Corporal Higgins were to remain and continue with the search while the other men escorted the levies back to their base. They would reconvene in the morning and, if need be, make further arrangements to find Mrs. Randall.

As Foster and Higgins went one direction, the major pulled Frank in another. Before, they had been calling Claire's name. Now, they creeped and snuck through the night, careful to keep their steps soundless. It felt more akin to a hunt than a search.

But Frank didn't care. Even as his agitation grew, so did his determination. He'd find her, they'd go home, and Fraser would be nothing but a ghost for the rest of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the broad strokes of the following chapters planned and am in the process of getting it written, so hopefully not too long before another *big* update! Thanks as always for your support and kind comments. It means so much.


	13. Face to Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The convergence is upon us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucky Chapter 13!! Buckle up, ladies and gents, as the engine is revving and ready for takeoff. This upcoming portion and the next has been rewritten so many times, as there were certain points that were really important to me thematically to include. I really enjoyed the challenge of plotting and replotting my way through this, as at some point I felt like I'd painted myself somewhat into a corner narratively, especially considering my non-negotiable thematic points. I really like how it's all ended up, and I hope you do, as well. 
> 
> This is essentially a two-parter and between the two is almost 10,000 words. I promise promise PROMISE the next chapter will be hardly any wait, likely posted later tonight. So....don't murder me. 
> 
> As always, thanks for your time, support, and comments. I am more than nervous to share this with you, but...here we go!!

**June 29, 1749**

**4:50 a.m.**

Patience, Jamie decided, was definitely a virtue, and one he sorely lacked.

He and Murtagh had arrived at the stones near dawn after the third night of sprinting. Two full days now, they'd waited. Watched Craigh Na Dun from the trees nearby, fearing that if Frank caught sight of them at the top of the hill he'd steal away without their knowledge.

Even on foot, even going slow, there should have been some sign of them by now. And as time slipped by, silent as the changing shadows, helplessness and impatience stole over Jamie.

The two men had traded shifts keeping watch and sleeping, but now neither could rest as their shared anxiety grew. A few hours previous, they'd split up to search the woods surrounding the hill for any sign that Claire and Frank were approaching. Murtagh ventured deeper into the woods, and Jamie stayed near the hilltop they'd ridden so hard for, the damned henge always in sight.

The pitch black of night eased into the gray of predawn as Jamie returned to the horses with naught to show for his investigating. Quiet sounds of morning time drifted to him but had no effect on his hollow, aching heart. As he awaited Murtagh's return, the only sounds that would matter to him were those that brought Claire into his arms. A footstep, a breath, her voice. Any of these. He prayed with each thump of his own pulse to hear something, see anything.

Nothing yet.

Knowing as he did that Frank and Claire couldn't have beaten them there, Jamie's mind concocted nightmare upon nightmare of disasters that could have befallen his wife between Lallybroch and the stones.

_Had that bastard gotten them lost?_

_Were they robbed or attacked?_

_Did she go into early labor like she had with Faith?_

_Was she lying dead on the forest floor somewhere?_

_If they ever gave up and turned for home, would he find her there, rotting away?_

The last question had an easy answer. No. Because he wouldn't go home without Claire, without knowing she was safe and warm and alive in his arms. Her and the bairn.

A twig cracked behind him.

Jamie turned, pulling his dirk forth as his heart skipped a beat. But through the trees, only Murtagh's face appeared in the gray light preceding the dawn. Before Jamie could ask, Murtagh put a finger to his lips. His heart fluttered.

Something. Finally.

Murtagh crept closer, putting his mouth beside Jamie's ear to speak quietly. "Redcoats, through the woods there." He gestured with his head behind himself. "Saw that bastard Randall wi' one of them."

"And Claire?" Jamie whispered, hardly a breath.

Murtagh shook his head. "Nay," he said. "But Randall and the Redcoat wi' him looked fit to be tied, creepin' through the trees themselves. My guess," he paused, a look of pride buoying his features, "she gave them the slip."

A swell of relief eased Jamie's own tension for a moment, but worry returned just as quickly. "Aye," Jamie muttered, breath heavy. "But if they find her first, no tellin' what they'll do. What Frank will do." He tapped his fingers on his bent knee, stress rising in him like the tide. "How many did ye see?"

"Randall walkin' wi' one," Murtagh reported, "One guardin' their horses and one near the creek bed."

Jamie wished he could stand and pace, but in an abundance of caution he remained crouched beside his godfather. He huffed out a breath through his nostrils, lips pursed, as he laid a plan to find Claire before those bastards could lay a hand on her. Shouldn't they both go and look to cover more ground, especially if she needed help or if it came to a fight? But if they left the stones too far behind, what if Frank found her first and brought her there while he and Murtagh wandered deeper into the forest?

"We'll both go," Murtagh grumbled, reading his mind. "She canna have run far, and if they're so close to the stones, then they were close when she fled. We'll ken if there's a stramash wi'in a mile of us here. But we'll cover more ground both lookin'."

"Aye," Jamie answered softly. After agreeing to meet back near the horses in the next hour to regroup as needed, they parted ways again. The light faded in, the woods around him coming more alive as they awoke. And Jamie eased tree to tree, looking for any hint that his Sassenach had trampled through.

Eyes peeled all around him, Jamie found himself asking and discarding question after question. Why were they traveling with Redcoats? Had they been taken prisoner somehow? No, Murtagh would've mentioned if Frank had looked captive.

The how and why didn't matter. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Jamie put himself in Claire's mind. She'd been near here before several times. If she had run, if she were hiding, where would she go? Running through the woods in the dark, even in a hasty flight, would have been too chancy; she could as easily have ended up lost or injured before she found adequate shelter or rescue. No, she'd look for a place she knew or a landmark. There was the obvious one, but Jamie doubted she'd put herself closer to the abominable stones she so detested if she had even a single other viable option. What else?

There was the abandoned croft nearby, but it was so close to the stones and likely would be easily discovered by the soldiers, so he doubted she'd risk it. Regardless, Murtagh would be the one to cross its path and to check it.

What else?

The creek. They'd fished and camped near it before. Yes, that was the only other recognizable feature she'd use to guide herself.

With a tangible goal in mind, Jamie hastened toward the waterway, always with an eye and ear on the search for signs of Claire or Redcoats. Trained for years as a hunter at Lallybroch then as a soldier, he glided across the forest floor, silent, leaving no trail for an enemy to follow.

Moments later as he approached the stream, a lone beam of sunlight breaking through the thick cloud cover of morning fell into his eyes. Nearly an hour had passed since departing Murtagh, but he couldn't turn back. Not yet. His skin tingled and his heart lurched as though a string tied between himself and Claire had been pulled taut.

Claire was nearby. He knew it.

Jamie forced his breath to slow to a normal speed, willing himself under control lest he miss some crucial sign that led him to his wife. He chose a direction and followed the stream. Nearly a mile later, he drew up short.

"I've been here before," he breathed. Not in waking, though. That stone...jutted out over the stream, pointed and smooth like a ship's bow. As his eyes fixed on that rock, he saw the ghost of Claire leaned over it, face beaming, assuring him that their ill son would be well soon.

Slowly, eyes not leaving the stone, he walked over to it. There was a slight embankment to the water here. Only two or three feet above the stream and only noticeable now as the stone stretched out over open air. Had the rock not been so familiar to him, had he not stopped and walked right to its edge, he likely would breezed on by.

His hands shook as he edged down the short embankment, leaves slick with morning dew threatening to overtake his balance. He gripped the cold stone and slid down, breathing hard from anticipation more than exertion. With a wary heart, he turned to look beneath the rock and fell to his knees.

Wet curls stuck to her face, and one fist was balled in her chest. Even with her eyes closed, Jamie could see the dark circles that fell beneath them, dark as bruises. And how had she grown so thin in so few days, even with the swell of their child cradled in the protective embrace of her other arm?

"Sassenach," he breathed, moving closer to touch her cheeks, to see if she were real. Damp and cold, but solid beneath his fingers. A shaky breath ripped from his chest as tears burned his eyes. "Sassenach," he said slightly louder. She stirred as he brushed her hair behind her ears. Eyes squeezed shut before blinking open. Glazed eyes took him in for a moment as though unsure he was real.

"Jamie?" she whispered, reaching up a hand to touch his face as he had done hers.

"Aye, _mo Sorcha_ ," he whispered, his lips stretching into a smile of elation as her fingers traced his jawline. He leaned into her warm touch, a tear running down his face. Warmth filled his heart and chest for the first time since he'd found Brianna alone in the garden. Eyes closed, he turned to place a kiss upon her palm.

"The bairn?" he asked at last, placing his hand on her belly.

She smiled. "He's fine, Jamie." Jamie exhaled as Claire continued, "I've been feeling for him, keeping track of how often I feel him move. He's active as ever, maybe more so, even," she finished with a chuckle.

As though in affirmation of his vitality, wee William gave his father a nice kick in greeting. Jamie laughed then, too, smiling as tears continued to stream down his face. "I'd expect no less from a Fraser lad, up to mischief even in the gravest of danger."

"And Bree?"

"Safe," he breathed. He pulled her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, his lips lingering. "I doubt she'll wanna go pick berries anytime soon. She was right distressed when I found her. But she's safe with Jenny and Ian at the house."

His own joy looked back at him from Claire's eyes, crinkled and shiny with smiling. Even so, she began to tremble.

"Come, _mo nighean donn_ ," he said. "Ye've been cold and wet all night. We'll get ye somewhere safe and get ye near a fire." He reached for her shoulders and eased her to a seated position, pulling her from the recess in the stone. Before she stood, though, he circled his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. A sob bubbled up and ripped from her body and she shook against him, holding herself to him just as tightly. For a moment much too short, they simply sat there, wrapped together in reunion and ensconced in dizzying relief. But they weren't alone in these woods. They must move.

A reluctant sigh and a final squeeze, and Jamie pulled away from Claire. Her red-rimmed eyes looked up at him with such feeling he found himself wanting to embrace her again. "'Tis no safe here, Sassenach," he murmured, helping her to stand. "The horses are nearby."

Without a word, she nodded. As they went to take a step, she faltered and nearly collapsed before he caught her with a startled, "Claire?!"

"I'm all right," she said, her voice husky with emotion. "Just exhausted and hungry. We've hardly stopped walking since we left."

Jamie nodded, repressing for now the fresh wave of furor directed to the bastard who'd done this to her. "'Tis no far," he repeated. One arm around her waist, he paced himself to the speed she set for them as he guided their direction. She clung to him with one arm and supported their bairn with the other. Occasionally, her head flopped to rest on his shoulder before straightening back up and setting herself to the task of walking.

Drawing nearer the horses, Jamie swelled with pride at the strength of his wife. Frightened and tired though she may be, she fought with all she had, and she'd gotten away. And now she fought even further to escape her captor's reach for good. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head as they walked on.

Finally, the horses came into view. They shared a sigh of relief as they approached.

"Where the hell is Murtagh?" he groaned as they entered the clearing.

Before they could look any further, they snapped their attention to a disturbance in the bushes across the clearing. Another blink later, a flash of red stepped before them. Blonde hair clubbed at the base of his skull, his eyes widened slightly at the sight of them. Claire gasped, fingers digging into the flesh at Jamie's hip.

Another heartbeat later, another soldier appeared from around the bush, a worse-for-wear Randall by his side. They all watched each other across the glade in silence, eyes wide. Frank shot daggers at Jamie, and he gladly returned the hostility, wishing with every breath in his body that he could run the man through where he stood.

"Well, Mrs. Randall," the second redcoat said, his voice drawn out with a devilish smirk on his lips that Jamie didn't like one bit. "I had hoped you had more sense than your husband indicated, but I can't say I'm surprised. Women so often suffer from feeble-mindedness, but I had truly hoped you to be above such frailty."

The warmth that had enveloped Jamie since finding Claire turned to fiery rage as the Redcoat's insults landed. Releasing his arm from her waist, Jamie moved to stand between Claire and the men who stood too close for comfort. Her fingers closed around his arm, and he heard her rapid breathing.

"James Fraser," he said with a hand to his chest by way of speedy introduction. "I dinna ken what Mr. Randall has told you, sir," Jamie said with as much respect as he could manage, "but Claire is my wife. Has been for nigh on six years now. _He_ ," Jamie snarled, unable to keep the venom from his voice as she gestured to Frank, "invaded my land and abducted my wife."

Jamie watched the soldier's face. A self-righteous smirk slanted his lips beneath eyes shining with a level of glee that made Jamie's stomach clench. "Well, that's not the tale Mr. Randall shared with me yesterday," the Redcoat taunted. "And do forgive me if I put more stock in his word than yours, _sir_." The last word held the hint of a jeer. Jamie understood perfectly well the meaning that lay beneath his words.

That he measured the truth of both men's words by the accent with which they spoke them.

"Major Adams," Claire said from behind him, trying to edge by her husband to face the man. Jamie shook his head at her, but she took no notice. Standing side by side, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, clutching her close by and ready to jump before her should any of the men across from him so much as twitch a pinkie finger. "I can assure you that _this_ is my husband." A deep, shaky breath before continuing. "Mr. Randall threatened my life and my child's if I said anything to the contrary."

Jamie tensed as though his bones were made of iron. He imagined ripping off each of Frank's fingers one by one with his bare hands before finally slitting the man's throat. How dare that _mac na galla_ threaten Claire's life, his child's life? Had he no honor left, no sense of humanity within him?

"Oh, really?" the major intoned, thoroughly unconvinced. "Then how did you come to know Mr. Randall here?"

"He was a suitor of mine some years ago," Claire said without hesitation, her voice strong and clear. "There was _talk_ of marriage, but before that, I came to Scotland and met and wed Jamie." She looked up at him then, and Jamie tore his own gaze from the major's to see the beaming adoration she showered upon him as she finished. "Every day I have lived as his wife has been a treasure to me." Without thinking about it, Jamie wrapped Claire's fingers with his own, offering a comforting squeeze. She broke their gaze then, turning back to the major. But Jamie continued to watch his wife, studying her profile as she spoke with her chin high and her voice strong and sure. "I haven't seen nor heard from Mr. Randall since the last we saw each other before my journey to Scotland. Not until he arrived at our home and forced me to leave under threat of violence."

"Hmph," the major said, breaking Jamie's attention away from his wife. The Redcoat still regarded them with a look of contempt and haughtiness. Frank, meanwhile, watched them with narrowed eyes and fists balled at his sides. "Well, seeing as how we've no proof of the matter --"

"Forgive me, Major," the other soldier butted in, startling Jamie. He'd forgotten about the other man. "The lady and I were able to speak a bit yesterday, and some of what she told me may be able to help our situation here."

"Well," the major drawled, "by all means, Lieutenant. What do you have to say?"

Foster glanced toward him and Claire before turning back to his major. "We spoke regarding her impending motherhood. I asked if this were her first child, and she said no. She told me the name of her firstborn." Jamie's fingers contracted around Claire's as Foster continued. The Redcoat looked to Frank. "What was the child's name?" he asked Frank.

The addressed man stood stiff, eyebrows furrowed and lips set in a thin line of pure loathing as his eyes danced back and forth, as though trying to remember something he'd read quickly too long ago. Pursing his lips for a moment, he finally spoke. "The child died. It had no name."

Over the past days, Jamie had found himself burning with rage hotter than he had in many years. An underlying heat of anger had never left him on their journey, but at certain moments, it burst through with the voracity of a roaring pyre. But as those words dripped from Frank's mouth with all the vileness of his ancestor, it was like every burning moment he'd endured merged into one all-engulfing flame that consumed him. He felt his hands shaking, his face contorting with sorrow and agonizing, scorching fury.

" _Aye, she has a name_ ," Jamie growled, taking half a step toward Frank. He wished he were quick enough to break the man's neck before the Redcoats took him out. A slight movement of Frank's eyebrow and Major Adams's hand reaching for a pistol stopped him before he stepped further. Labored breaths puffed in his chest as he worked to still his hands.

Foster, he saw out of the corner of his eye, nodded.

"Faith Fraser," Jamie said, his voice a deep, dangerous monotone. "Born and died 1744. In Paris," he added, hoping as many details as possible may sway the major, who stood before him, face impassive.

The Redcoats locked eyes, and Foster nodded. "That is the name the lady gave to me yesterday."

"And," Jamie said, "she wears my ring. Take it, Lieutenant," he said, pulling her hand forth so the man may slip the ring from her finger. Claire shot him a shocked, worried look, which he returned with a single nod. _Trust me_ , he implored with his eyes. Swallowing, Claire nodded once and held her hand up on her own.

With a dubious look, Foster slowly approached. He pulled the ring from his wife's finger carefully, gently.

"There's an inscription on the inside," Jamie said. As Foster strained to see, Jamie recited the words he'd had Auld Alec write inside the band all those years ago. " _Da mi basia mille_. Latin." Jamie released a shaky breath and, unable to stop himself, placed a kiss at Claire's temple. "Give me a thousand kisses."

"You..." Claire looked at him in wonder. "That's been there this whole time?"

"Ye didna ken?" Jamie said and, despite himself, smirked a bit.

Claire shook her head, eyes shining. "I haven't taken it off since the day you put it on my finger."

And for a moment, he forgot that they stood in a clearing with two Redcoats and the man who'd tried to steal his wife mere yards from the cursed hill that occupied every fearful thought and dream within him. For a moment, they stood there, his blue eyes lost in her amber ones. Her body heat in his arms, his child safe between them. His fingers brushed against her cheek. Christ, it had been so long since he'd caressed her face.

A bracing breath. A determined nod. He turned back to the major. "I speak true, Major," Jamie tried again. "Claire is my wife, and she carries my child. She has carried all my children. And I will be dead and damned before any man takes her where she doesna will to go."

Heartbeats banged against his chest so hard he swore the Redcoats could see the pulse of his shirt at his chest as he waited. The major's eyes, heretofore mocking and nearly predatory, held only contempt and frustration. But no sympathy.

"Be that as it may, sir," the major said with a sigh, "none of these things prove she is, in fact, your wife.She could as easily be your mistress."

Jamie hardly had time for his anger to flare at hearing this Redcoat scum impugn Claire's character once more before a voice spoke up behind them, causing both Frasers to whip their heads around.

"What about a contract, then, Major?"

Murtagh approached the group with long, slow steps, both hands raised in a show of peace.

For the first time, the major seemed genuinely flustered. "You--you have a marriage contract?"

"Aye," Murtagh answered again before Jamie could. Still moving slowly, he crossed to the saddle bag on his own horse and, after Foster nodded his approval, reached inside and pulled out a scroll of paper.

"Ye brought the contract?" Jamie said in surprise.

"Ye have yer brother-in-law to thank for that," Murtagh responded gruffly, handing the contract to Major Adams, who began unrolling it. "While ye were runnin' around like ye had midges swirlin' about in that heid o' yers, he was actually usin' his. Thought this may be handy considerin' who it was we were dealing wi'."

Jamie’s eyes turned again to the major, and hope swelled in his chest as the first signs of bafflement invaded the man's features.

"Hmph," the major grumbled, reading over the contract. "Ned Gowan drew this contract?"

It came as no great revelation that the major recognized Ned's name. Since the Rising, Ned had spent much of his time fighting the Crown, vocally and profusely, to recover land and property unjustly taken from Scottish families across the Highlands, and with astounding success. The Edinburgh solicitor was likely infamous throughout much if not all of the British Army.

"Aye," Jamie answered, his thumb grazing Claire's knuckles as he watched the major continue to stare at their contract. Perhaps knowing (or at least knowing of) the man who'd drafted the contract would lend credence to their words. Surely with such a notable name, the major couldn't claim it as a forgery or any other excuse to continue backing Frank's claim to Claire.

"I also witnessed the marriage, Major," Murtagh intoned. "'Twas legal and binding, and the lass had no prior husband." A quick glance assured Jamie that his godfather's face hid the lie he told well; no need to muddy the waters at this point with talk of widows and stones. Claire had wisely turned her face into Jamie's chest.

The major looked troubled, eyes scanning back and forth over and over, and the hope in Jamie's chest grew. It was obvious the man had no love for Scots, but he clearly couldn't deny the hard evidence before his eyes.

"Well, Mr. Fraser," the major said, standing straight and handing the paper back to Murtagh, who rolled it and returned it to the bag. "We seem to find ourselves in quite the conundrum. Until such time as Mr. Randall can produce his own contract for inspection, I believe it best if you accompany us to Fort William."

"No!" Claire cried. She tried to break free of Jamie's grasp, to put her own body before his. Jamie, however, kept firm hold of her and locked her by his side. "Frank doesn't have a contract to produce to you because _we are not married_ ," Claire said, her voice shaking as Jamie held her in place beside him.

"Well, we can ascertain that once we arrive," the major insisted.

But Jamie's mind raced. If Randall was held in Fort William as well, then he couldn't take Claire through the stones. Couldn't hurt her at all anymore. He'd rather be locked up for a time with the miserable bastard who'd caused all this turmoil than risk losing Claire. Frank, for his part, had grown pale, sweat breaking out on his upper lip.

"Major," Jamie implored, raising one hand palm outward as his other stayed firmly around his wife's shoulders. "If my godfather may escort Claire home and if Mr. Randall will accompany us as well, then aye, I will go with you wi'out a fight."

"No, you bloody won't," Claire said beside him. "You will not set one foot in that place!"

"Hush, Sa- -- Claire," Jamie stammered, eyes on the Redcoats before him. Unwise, probably, to utter the phrase the men would likely recognize as a slur.

The major exhaled one annoyed chuckle, his face recovering some semblance of his prior arrogance. "No, Mr. Fraser. You all will be coming with us until we can settle this matter."

"Major, I beg ye," Jamie said in a low voice. "My wife is exhausted. She needs food and rest--"

"Which she will have at Fort William," Major Adams retorted. "While we await Mr. Randall's contract."

Desperately, Jamie cast his mind for anything else, any other solution. He'd happily be prisoner again to keep Claire safe from Redcoats or from Frank, but the thought of her in a cell alongside him -- or, Christ, on her own -- tore at his heart. Who knew how long it would be before the Redcoats finally ruled that Frank had no ground to stand upon? Would they even be able to get home in time for the bairn to come? Or, Lord forbid, would he be born in a prison? Or, even worse, could Frank manage to produce a forgery of his own to predate theirs and walk free from Fort William with himself still locked inside?

Dark possibilities swirled in his mind as he sought for a solution, any negotiation that could help them.

"Lieutenant," Claire called out, emotion in her voice. "Please, you know this is wrong. You know we're telling you the truth." And, Jamie thought, the lieutenant did look pained as Claire pled with him.

"Unfortunately, Mrs. Randall," Major Adams interrupted, "it matters very little what the lieutenant believes. I am the commanding officer here, and I declare that both men shall proceed to Fort William. And since you are the disputed...party --" Jamie's lip twitched into a brief snarl at the major's label which so clearly stood in for the term _property_ "-- you must accompany us. Now, gentlemen," he gestured to Jamie and Murtagh, "on your horses. My lieutenant will escort you to Fort William. Mr. and Mrs. Randall shall join me as we return to our own horses, and we'll convene shortly."

Jamie shook his head back and forth. "No," he breathed. "She'll ride wi' me or not at all," Jamie bargained. He hated to yield any ground to the Redcoat, to acquiesce to this ridiculous detention. But he'd do anything, make whatever deals were within his current power to keep Claire and Frank apart.

Before the major could respond, Lieutenant Foster stepped forward. "Major, I could retrieve our horses and bring them here, along with Higgins. Then we can ride as a unit." Foster cast a glance to Claire and Jamie. "To keep circumstances as impartial as possible, sir. Wouldn't take more than half an hour, three quarters at most."

At his side, he felt Claire's posture relax slightly. With effort, he unclenched his jaw. If she trusted the man, Jamie would too.

Major Adams weighed his lieutenant's words, finally closing his eyes with an annoyed sigh before agreeing. Before Foster departed, he turned to Claire and held out his hand. She reached out and took the ring he offered. She slid it back onto her finger and kissed it there as Foster turned and strode from the clearing.

Silence fell upon the remaining souls gathered as they all regarded each other with wary distrust. As soon as Foster's footsteps faded, Major Adams pulled his pistol from its holster, holding it at his side and tapping it with his index finger with a look of challenge in his eyes.

The message was clear: Make a wrong move, and I'll shoot.

Frank kept his face cast downward where Jamie struggled to make out his features or expression. Minutes passed. Everyone stood, tense and quiet, waiting.

For as long as Jamie lived, the next five seconds would be emblazoned in his memory as a blur of panic and pain.

So focused on Frank's face as Jamie was, he somehow missed the man's hand swipe the major's pistol and clock the soldier over the head with it, hard enough to knock the man out. The major fell, and Murtagh moved to intercept Frank but was farther across the clearing. By instinct, Jamie thrust his arm out to shove Claire behind his own body. With stunning speed Jamie wouldn't have expected from him, Frank looked him dead in the eye, took aim, and fired. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I KNOW....as promised, the next chapter is not far from you at all.


	14. A Promise is Kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moment of truth.

As Jamie crumpled to the ground before her, Claire barely heard her own scream over the ringing in her ears. Not from the shot. Shock. Shock was setting in.

_What if she watched Jamie die?_

One shovelful of asphyxiating, soul-wrenching terror amongst the multitude that had overwhelmed her in the wagon only yesterday. She couldn't breathe. But she must be because she was still screaming.

She felt Frank behind her, grasping her arm, pulling her up -- when had she descended to the ground? -- placing a blade to her throat. Murtagh stood before them, chest heaving, eyes blazing with an unmatched fury.

"Which would you rather," Frank said to Murtagh over her shoulder, "Dead here or alive on the other side of the stones?"

Without another word, Frank dragged her bodily around the opposite side of the horses from the furious clansman and began running toward the hill just past the trees.

Only a hundred yards away. A hundred yards away from never seeing Brianna again, never hugging Fergus tight or seeing Jamie hold his newborn son.

Oh, God. Jamie.

Frank's grip was piercing, his pace punishing as he ran toward the stones. More than once, she stumbled and nearly fell. Only his fingers biting into her flesh kept her from falling completely.

"Frank," Claire said, "Frank, please, you don't have to do this," she said. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't get enough air. Her heart raced so quickly it felt like a hum in her chest. Gasping, she grasped Frank's wrist with her free hand.

"Yes, I do," he snarled, pulling her along even as her knees gave way again. He propped her up and bade her walk forward.

She pulled. She thrashed. Her fingers pried at Frank's to no avail.

He turned on her then, placed the knife to her stomach, a threat he'd not made since approaching her in her garden. "Keep walking or lose this child too. Your choice. But I'm done fighting. We're almost home."

Claire sobbed, pulling against him to avoid going up the hill, drawing ever closer to the outer stones. The humming began then, a vibration beneath her skin. Her hands trembled as tears burned her eyes and fell down her face. Only moments away from the center stone, where her life would be over. She clutched her stomach, clinging to the life within, the one piece of family she'd have left. Would it be enough? Could she live for the child she'd take with her, even as she mourned the ones she left behind, the husband that had been ripped from her as acutely as if it were a tooth or a limb? Would love for this life be enough to make life worth living?

The world before Claire blurred as tears continued to stream. She didn't even try to stem their flow now. Claire allowed herself to begin mourning the loss that was fresh as a wound and the one that was soon to come. Eyes closed as Frank dragged her on, she imagined Jamie's face first thing in the morning before he'd truly awoken when she'd brush his cheek with her fingertips and watch his lips curl into a smile. She pictured his eyes, piercing blue, wet with tears as he held Brianna for the first time. In his Fraser tartan, hair brushed back as he awaited her on their wedding day. Jamie leading a horse calmly around a pen, soothing Gaelic streaming from his lips. The feel of pearls being lowered over her neck, their coolness raising goosebumps over her bare breasts. The feel of his arms wrapped around her sobbing frame before the hearth at Leoch. Brianna stumbling over her own feet as she took her first steps to his waiting hands, their matching grins so wide. Jamie chasing Fergus through the grass after he'd stolen the last bit of raspberry jam and bannock. Image after image flooded her mind, and she allowed them to take over as more tears escaped and hope diminished.

Two steps from the circle perimeter and Frank stopped short, jerking her back as well. Claire's eyes flashed open and the air left her chest as Jamie, blood staining his shirt at his left side, stepped around the center stone and stood before them, dirk drawn and pointed to them.

 _He's alive_. Her heart sang it as she watched her husband's vibrant eyes narrow in vengeful ire before her.

Before relief could set in, Frank had his own blade back at Claire's throat.

"Well," Jamie said, not lowering his weapon, "if I didna ken ye to be Black Jack's kin before, using a woman wi' child as a shield would certainly remove all doubt." His voice was calm, but Claire could see the fire that burned behind the ocean of his eyes.

Claire tried to assess the damage the bullet had done, but from here it was impossible. Jamie stood straight though, and he moved normally. Every fiber of her being prayed that the wound was minor, that he wasn't putting on the front of strength as he so often did when injured.

Frank didn't reply, so Jamie continued. "But, ye ken, ye've dragged her all the way here in hopes of bringin' her home as yer wife. So I doubt ye'll be cutting her throat right at the end, aye?"

"Maybe not," Frank admitted, moving the blade again to Claire's stomach. Jamie's eyes never left the blade, and she focused on the husband before her to remain calm. "I could get her to a hospital in time. She'd live."

If thoughts alone could kill, Frank would have dropped dead instantly from the hatred both Claire and Jamie aimed at him as he threatened their child. Claire had to do something, give Jamie an opening to strike, which meant getting Frank's blade far enough away that she could hold him off.

"You won't do that either," she said, chest heaving.

"Wouldn't I?" Frank retorted, hissing in her ear. "He said it himself. I brought you all this way. What wouldn't I do to finish this, do you think?"

"Claire," Jamie said softly, eyes not leaving the blade.

She shook her head. "We tried for a child for years, Frank, and could never conceive. This could be your last chance to raise a child with me. You were never keen on adoption. This child may not have your blood, but it has mine. And if you drag me through the stone, this will be your last chance to raise a child that is connected to at least one of us."

"Frank," Jamie interjected as Frank's grip tightened on the hilt of his dagger. "Yer angry at me, no at Claire. So why don't we handle this hand to hand, aye? I ken ye dinna want to harm her. Ye want me. So come." He opened his arms in invitation, a dark smile playing on his lips. Claire stifled the gasp as he revealed more blood on his white shirt, but his face showed no sign of pain. "Have at me, then. Ye've already wounded me. Surely I'm no match for yourself at full strength, then."

Whether or not Frank was actually tempted by the proposal -- Claire couldn't imagine Frank even halfway believed he could beat Jamie in a fight, even if he were hurt -- she felt his grip on her arm lighten. The cutting edge of the dagger drooped ever so slightly. Hoping Frank wouldn't notice, Claire swiveled her wrist around, easing the stolen fork down from her sleeve and into her waiting fingers.

Jamie, still standing with arms wide, shifted his eyes to meet hers. She inclined her head toward him slowly, hopefully enough for him to notice as she made her move.

With one hand, Claire grabbed Frank's wrist and thrust it away from her as hard as she could. The fork, held in the other, she shoved backwards. The last time she'd stabbed a man had been with a proper knife and in the back. Her arm had thrummed with reverberation as she nicked solid bone. This time, it felt more like stabbing a sack of grain. No bones to disconcert her, but she had to put more force behind the weapon to drive it deep enough to do any good.

Frank stumbled back, releasing his grip on her. A flash of something dark and far too like Black Jack Randall crossed his face before he backhanded her. Jamie had tackled Frank before Claire even hit the ground.

Claire fell to the grass, breathing heavily and pulling herself away from the stones, fingers digging into the grass and dirt. Another set of hands grasped her arms and she shrieked, rearing back against them.

"Hush, lass, it's me," Murtagh growled in her ear, helping her to her feet. But she couldn't stand on her own, collapsing almost instantly against Murtagh.

"My head," she said, nausea rising in her stomach. "The stones...they're so loud."

He guided her down the hill, one arm hooked around her waist as he pulled hers over his shoulder, but she turned to look behind them. Jamie sat astride Frank, fists raining down on his face. Frank's fingers grasped at Jamie's shirtsleeves, but the fight was futile. Claire looked to Jamie's face, contorted with berserk rage she'd only ever seen one time before: as he crossed swords with the other Randall in Paris. Then, too, she'd been heavily pregnant, held aloft by a man as the earth fell out from under her.

The world turned over on itself. Blackness creeped in from the edges of her vision. Claire felt herself go completely limp in Murtagh's embrace, heard him call for Jamie as she slipped from consciousness.

Some time later -- it was impossible to know for sure how long -- Claire came back to herself to the sound of desperate sobs above her.

"Sassenach, please dinna leave me," she heard. Then she felt the warmth of his embrace, the trembling that shook her frame as well as his own. "Please, Claire. Stay wi' me. _Mo graidh_ , I canna do it without ye."

She opened her eyes then, looking up into the tear-streaked face of her husband.

"Jamie," she whispered, and he opened his eyes and his rocking stopped.

"Sassenach," he gasped, his fingers stroking her cheeks. "My God, I'd feared ye'd gone. Ye were so pale...." Loud, uncontrollable sobs shook his body as he brought his face down even to hers, resting their foreheads together. His tears pelted down, wetting her own cheeks. Claire reached her hand up, heavy as it was, to rest against his face.

"You're hurt!" she cried out as soon as she remembered.

He smiled down at her, sniffing as tears kept falling. "Och, 'tis nothin' so bad. Smarts a bit, for certain, but I ken ye can set it to rights once we're finished here."

"You promise?"

"Aye, _mo chridhe_ ," Jamie whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead. "The shock of it was worse than anything. But Murtagh had me roused in an instant, and we bolted up the hill. Luckily, Frank was still slower draggin' ye along. Yer quite the load to carry wi' wee William in yer belly."

Claire's laugh came out as little more than another sob, but she smiled, closing her eyes. They sat that way for a time, holding each other, touching skin to skin, assuring themselves that they'd made it in time. As Claire came to realize that the life she'd believed Frank would rip away was still, in fact, hers, her own sobs combined with her husband's.

Claire sighed deeply, muscles that had been tensed in fear for five days were finally relaxing. Jamie rocked her back and forth on the ground, hand smoothing her hair and whispering Gaelic into her ear.

"I'm sorry," she said after a time. "I'm just so tired. It's as though just the energy needed to breathe is more than I have."

Jamie nodded, his red curls bouncing as he pulled Claire up to lean against his body, head on his shoulder. "Ye'll need rest, _mo nighean donn_ , before we head for home."

His shoulder was so firm and warm and comforting, she nearly let herself fall back into oblivion right there. But she had to know. "Frank?" she asked. "What'll you do?"

Claire felt his muscles contract, his fingers stroking through her curls gripping her tighter. "The man canna live, Sassenach," he finally said. She heard Murtagh approach behind them. "We tried to let him go forward and start his life again, move on in his own time. As long as he lives, neither of us can trust he willna come back and try this again. He will keep fightin' for you."

It was the obvious answer. She knew he was right. As long as Frank lived, in this or any other time, she'd never sleep easy again.

Nodding, Claire let him transfer her to Murtagh's arms. She didn't ask about the soldiers or what they'd do once they fled. Questions for when she could keep her eyes open. His hand on her hair was comforting as she felt sleep coming for her.

"I swear to ye, Claire," he murmured, "it will be over soon."

She could only nod one more time before allowing sleep to take her again.

#

Within seconds, Claire's breathing grew slow and deep as she drifted to sleep against Murtagh, and Jamie let out a breath. Relief and love melded with rage and a thirst for vengeance, all fighting for reign in his heart. After days of anxiety and waiting at the stones, he'd stopped Frank from stealing his Claire and kept her from tumbling to a time he'd never be able to retrieve her from.

But now it was time to deal with Frank Randall, once and for all.

Finally, he stood from his spot in the grass and looked down at his wife in his godfather's arms, drinking in the peace that came over her in slumber.

"I checked on Adams before comin' over," Murtagh murmured, his tone softer than Jamie had ever heard it. "Still out like a corpse."

Jamie nodded. "Stay with my wife," was all he said before brushing past him back up toward the hill.

Randall lay where Jamie had left him, bloodied beyond recognition. He knelt beside the man, pulling his dirk from his belt and holding the tip of the blade to the man's throat, as he had once before.

"So," Frank groaned, coughing and spitting blood onto the grass beside him, "I suppose you'll be killing me now."

"Aye," Jamie said, nodding grimly. "I told ye I would."

"Hm," Frank said with a casualness akin to discussing the spring planting schedule. "And you're a _man of honor_ , then. Must stick to your word."

The inflection of "man of honor" sent another shock of rage through Jamie. "More than ye can say," he replied tersely, not moving the point of his blade. "I told ye I'd let you live and move on with yer life, and that I did, even after your attack on my home. You gave your word to no go near my family, and ye broke it."

"Well," Frank said, opening his eyes as much as he could, swollen as they were from Jamie's fists, "just do it, then."

"You should know, Frank," Jamie murmured through a clenched jaw, "Claire doesna relish this. If she werena so weak from what ye've done to her, she'd probably fight me on it, even."

The blood rushing through his body felt like a hum he could feel just beneath his flesh. The words he spoke to Frank in his barn floated back to him.

_Well, let's just say I've spent too many hours of my life imagining the vengeance I'd take on the man with whom ye share a face. I ken yer no him, but seein' as I couldna end the bastard myself, I think I could settle just fine for ye, if it was necessary to protect what's mine._

Jamie had meant it then: He knew Frank and Black Jack weren't the same person. Looking down now at the man he'd disliked far longer than he'd known him (and whom he'd hated since their meeting), Jamie forced himself to see Frank and not Jack. He hadn't gotten the chance to kill the first Randall, though he wish to God he could have. And his reasons for killing this Randall were far different. In his heart, the distinction felt important, and he clung to it as he weighed his next words.

"And I want ye to ken that I'm no killin' ye because I fear ye. I dinna." Jamie lowered his face to Frank's, his voice becoming almost a purr, brutality notwithstanding. "I'm killin' ye for marchin' her through the woods for days without rest, pushin' her to exhaustion so severe she canna even walk or speak. For deprivin' her food and water and comfort, even as the bairn in her belly takes what nourishment and strength she has from her. For using the death of her children against her, to bend her to yer will. For firin' a pistol in her direction." With every accusation, the tip of the knife pressed harder against Frank's throat.

"I'm killin' ye, Frank," Jamie went on, voice barely a whisper, "because I ken if ever came the day ye succeeded and brought her back to your time, back where I couldna reach her, ye'd no be able to protect her as she needs, love her as she deserves. Maybe ye could at some point in the past, but ye canna anymore. Your needs will always come before hers. That bein' the case, if you ever won her either by trickery or by her own choice, I canna trust she'd be safe and cherished as the Lord made her to be. And I willna allow that possibility to come to pass, Frank Randall. Even if it costs me my soul."

Jamie paused, bringing the edge of the blade to Frank's throat. "Last words?" he asked.

Frank only looked up at him with coldness and defiance. Jamie waited, giving him a chance to speak. Finally, Jamie sighed, eyebrows knit together, and kept his promise.

A moment later, he retreated back to Murtagh and Claire's position at the bottom of the hill. Wiping his dirk against the grass before sheathing it, Jamie looked once more upon his wife's face. For the first time in so many days, breath came easily.

She was alive. She was here. And no one would come for her again.

Neither man said a word as Jamie took Claire in his arms and sat back on the grass. He really should deal with Frank's body, but he needed to feel Claire's warmth against him. Murtagh, sighing, stood to see to it himself.

But he wouldn't get the chance.

With a gasp, the older man moved to shield Jamie and Claire, still sitting in the grass. Jamie turned to look. Adams charged from the trees, wig askew, with Foster hot on his heels and a third man trailing further behind still.

"What in God's name --" Adams cried out, looking at them then glancing further up the hill where the prostrate form of Frank's body still rested.

Jamie focused on keeping his face impassive as he rested Claire gently on the ground and stood, turning to face the soldiers.

"He's dead, sir," Foster called down, having trudged up the hill while Jamie's back was turned.

Adams's face went red with indignation, eyes fixed on Jamie. "Why, you utter beast!" he snarled. "I will have you hanged, you Scottish --"

"Ye'll have to have me hanged then, Major Adams," Murtagh said, stepping forward. "Seein' as I'm the one that's killed the bastard."

"Murtagh!" Jamie hissed, stepping forward. His godfather threw up an arm, keeping Jamie behind him as he went on, addressing the major.

"Randall stole yer pistol and shot Jamie. Ye can see the wound right there, clear as day." He pointed to the blood spot emanating from Jamie's side. "And grabbed Claire, makin' to run. So I chased him. He threatened her life, her child's life. But I was quicker, and I beat him, then I killed him."

"Murtagh, no," came a small cry from behind him. Claire had woken at some point and now struggled to stand. Jamie's hands immediately wrapped around her, holding her to his chest, his hand pressed to the back of her head.

"Aye, I did," Murtagh repeated, eyes fixed on the major and lieutenant, who'd rejoined him. Adams's eyes were wide, cheeks still red, as Murtagh went on. "Ye ken neither Jamie nor I knocked ye out. Ye were lookin' right at us when it happened. Randall attacked ye then threatened Claire. I couldna abide such. When I got her free from Randall, she fainted. Jamie, who'd come to by then, ran straight for her, and I took care of the ingrate myself."

For the first time since the soldiers had emerged from the bushes near the horses, Adams looked utterly flabbergasted, lost. He couldn't deny that neither Scotsman had attacked him. But neither could he walk away from a dead body -- a dead _Englishman_ \-- on the hill. As more and more evidence piled up to the contrary, Major Adams seemed to have a true cognitive crisis waging war in his mind.

The senior Redcoat gathered his faculties as best he could, standing straighter. His gaze fell to Jamie.

"Well, given the circumstances, by my authority under the Crown, I recognize your marriage contract as valid," he declared. His eyes then slid over to Murtagh. "And, further, by my authority under the Crown, I place you under arrest for the murder of Mr. Frank Randall, a loyal subject to the King."

Jamie felt his lip trembling. He looked to Foster, their one possible ally, his eyes pleading for intervention. Though he returned sympathy, Foster said nothing, casting his own face downwards.

Hot tears threatened to escape his eyes. "Major," he said, fighting for calmness, "we've shared with ye the sort of man Randall was, the danger he posed to my family. We tried, truly, to be fair to him and I nearly lost my wife and child as a result."

Now he had to stop, gulping in a deep breath as he thought about how close he had come to losing both of them forever.

"Please," he whispered, eyes fierce as he looked to the Redcoat who held Murtagh's fate in his hands. "I would beg ye for discretion."

Major Adams scoffed, turning and pacing toward Murtagh. "I'm sorry, Mr. Fraser. That is simply beyond my capabilities. The man admitted to murder. He will be transported for trial and sentencing." Again, the subtext of his words rang loud and clear in Jamie's ears.

 _If I can't take down both Scots, I'll take down the one I can_. For surely as the current evidence stood, the man must accept that Jamie's story rang truest. But the major likely wouldn't want to admit to his own superiors that he'd been overpowered by a single man, especially in light of the lie that said attacker had duped him into believing.

No, if he couldn't prove Jamie to be a Scottish barbarian and a wife-stealer to boot, he could prove at least one of those of Murtagh.

His godfather nodded, walking toward the soldiers.

"Wait!" Jamie breathed through clenched teeth. "Can I...can I speak wi' him. Please?" he asked of the Redcoats.

Adams made to deny him, but Foster put a hand on his superior's arm. "A moment won't hurt, Major," the lieutenant muttered. "He won't go anywhere." After another second's consideration, Adams huffed and followed his lieutenant back toward the trees.

Jamie turned to Murtagh. "Ye canna do this, man," Jamie said.

"Aye, I can," his godfather responded. And despite the events of the past ten minutes, Murtagh's eyes shone with peace and love as he looked at Jamie and down at Claire. Jamie felt her silent sobs shaking her body.

But he couldn't let it end this way. "Then I'll get ye out," Jamie whispered. "I'll get Claire to safety and come for ye."

Murtagh shook his head. "Ye willna," he said, calmness not belying the demand in his voice. "All that'll do is bring the entire army down on Lallybroch and land one or the both of ye right beside me on the gibbet.

"I made a vow to yer mam to watch over ye, to always see ye well. That vow extends now to those most precious to you." The older man looked with fondness down to Claire. "And there is no finer lass and no finer weans I could wish on ye, _a bhalaich_." He nodded then, and Jamie felt his heart break clean in two. "This is how I keep that promise."

So recently as the ache of Claire's absence had abated, a fresh pain gripped his body as Murtagh nodded again. His godfather's hand rested against his cheek, his other upon Claire's. They three stood there for a time before Murtagh exhaled again and, without another word, turned to the tree line. With each step Murtagh took from him, another crack split his heart. As he disappeared amid the forest, Jamie fell to his knees. Claire's arms encircled him as he wept, pain like a whip rippling through his body. He bowed his head, succumbing to despair. In all the days of riding, of waiting and dreading the loss of Claire -- his light, his heart -- never had the thought of losing Murtagh occurred to him. And now, as it came to pass, Jamie wondered how he'd go on without the man who'd been as much father to him as his own.

The sun had risen high by the time Jamie's sobs slowed and ceased. Claire's arms never released him, even as he had felt her trembling with her own tears. He grasped her then, holding her tight to him, and kissed her temple.

Whatever pain he felt, he had a duty. Claire must be cared for and brought home. His own emotions would have to wait.

"Come, _mo graidh_ ," he murmured into her hair as he stood, pulling her up beside him.

"What about --"

"Let the bastard rot," Jamie growled, his voice dark, as he led his wife away.

He'd wished for these things before, and he wished them now with a fervor previously unknown to him: He wished for Randall to burn, screaming and bleeding, in the deepest pits of hell. And he wished never to lay eyes upon these blasted stones again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooof.....hang with me guys. The angst got a little out of control here. Working on the upcoming chapters that will hopefully be ready in the coming week. Still have a bit to go before the grand finale. 
> 
> Thanks as always for your attention and care for this story!


	15. The Aftermath: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jamie make their way home, where they begin the work of healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as the title says, this is a two-parter; however, this is officially the end of what I have pre-written. I'm so *into* this story right now, though, that I didn't want to put off posting, even if it means a slightly longer wait until the next chapter. Hope you all agree! At least this one's nice and long for you. At just over 5,000 words, I think it's my longest single chapter yet.
> 
> I have been absolutely giddy to read your responses to the last two chapters I posted yesterday. Thank you all so much for the time to read my story and support it in your comments. You truly do not know what it means to me. This has been a genuinely healing experience for me as I face my own anxieties that have kept me from writing for so long. So thank you from the bottom of my heart.

**June 29th, 1749**

**1:15 p.m.**

Few words filled the hour after Murtagh and the Redcoats departed. Returning to the clearing, Claire and Jamie found that Murtagh had transferred most of his own horse's supplies to Donas, who now stood alone. And whether she had Murtagh or Ian to thank for their foresight she didn't know as she found her traveling medical kit included amongst the provisions.

Jamie was lucky the musket ball had shot straight through his oblique; it precluded her from needing to dig around in the wound to extract it. As Claire cleaned and bound it as best she could, she thanked the Lord above it wasn't any more serious than the one she'd patched up for him the night they'd met. Truly, the shock of it and his own weariness from the preceding days must have contributed heavily to his passing out.

Before long, Claire deemed Jamie fit for travel. He, however, didn't return the favor.

"Yer bone-tired, Sassenach," he said, his voice low and strained. "We'll find a place to rest for a day or two before we go home."

Neither even suggested riding into Inverness due to the chances of running across the Redcoat patrol. In some kind of unspoken understanding, they made for the abandoned croft nearby. Once inside, Jamie laid her on the bed and pressed his lips gently to her temple, lingering there. In those seconds, Claire's heart beat freer than it had in days. The moment passed, and Jamie murmured that he'd find them something to eat while she rested. So great was the exhaustion already clouding her vision that she hardly protested, sinking instead into the cot and sighing as consciousness slipped away.

#

**June 30th, 1749**

**6:25 a.m.**

If she dreamed, most of them were destined to be lost in the ethereal realm between waking and slumber. All but one.

In it, Frank dragged her roughly up the slope as the roaring of the stones grew louder, creaking and moaning in her ears with deafening volatility. She cried, begged, pleaded, fought. Casting her eyes around, she searched for Jamie, but he never appeared. And just before Frank forced her hand to the stones, he looked back at her. Only pure black onyx shone from his eyes, flooding her with terror. Then he opened his mouth, his voice an inhuman croak, and smiled as he said, "You cannot take him with us, Claire. No part of him," before thrusting his knife into her belly. She screamed as the blood stained her dress, hardly even feeling the pain of the knife over the agony of knowing her child -- _Jamie's_ child -- was gone from her. That she'd failed Jamie. Failed William. Frank pulled her to the center stone, then, and they both touched it, her screams joining in with the countless others that assaulted her senses and tore at her being.

"Wake up, Sassenach! Yer dreamin'!" came a voice from far away, above the screaming.

His voice.

Jerking awake, Claire felt her heart pounding against her chest. Her skin felt sticky with sweat, and she heard the rasping wheeze of her labored breathing. Jamie sat beside her in the early morning light, forehead creased with fright. She felt the warmth of his hands on her face, caressing her cheeks.

"Jamie," she whispered, sitting up to throw her hands around his neck. Without hesitation, he did the same, clutching her to him as she sobbed.

"Ye were stirring for some time, but then ye screamed and clutched at yer belly," Jamie finally said as he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers and weaving their fingers together. "My heart must have stopped completely. I thought the bairn was dyin' until I realized ye were still asleep."

More sobs wracked Claire's body, but she shook her head. "No. No, he's safe, Jamie. It was just a dream."

"Would ye share it, _mo chridhe_?"

She nodded and recounted the dream, seared with perfect detail into her memory, likely forever.

"I was so afraid, Jamie," she whispered once she'd gotten through the nightmare. Somehow, she knew she didn't need to clarify her words. "So afraid of losing you and our family. Afraid that I'd be too broken to care for our child without you."

She looked to her husband, seeing tears running freely down his face, too.

"I ken well, _mo nighean donn_ ," he replied, running his fingers through her curls. "From the moment I found Brianna in the garden, the only thought on my mind was gettin' to ye, beating you and Frank here because I didna ken if I could survive the alternative.

"Did he--" Jamie paused, taking a steadying breath and closing his eyes. "Did he hurt ye, Claire?"

She shook her head, and Jamie let out a wavering sigh. "No. There was hardly time. Except for the two or three hours a day we stopped to sleep, we were walking. And he only brought the knife out in the garden and then today at the end," she added. "Not that that makes things better, but..."

"Aye," Jamie replied. "It doesna. But ye need not fear the man any longer, Sassenach."

Claire swallowed, nodding once. She was thankful he didn't push the matter any further. There was no good response; she didn't want Frank to suffer, to die. She never had. But neither could she risk him hurting her family as he grew more and more desperate. The choice she'd made after Cranesmuir would always be her choice: She chose Jamie, her children, and Lallybroch over Frank and would every time.

She'd slept through the whole previous day and night. Sitting there with Jamie, her stomach rumbled, and Jamie kissed her cheek before pulling away. "Caught another rabbit just this morning, Sassenach," he said. Claire noted the tone of forced casualness, the lines around his eyes drawn tighter than normal in an otherwise neutral face.

Murtagh's loss hit her again as Jamie set to work cooking the meat. The aromas filling the air did nothing to quell her loud and protesting stomach, but her mind hardly acknowledged it. She flitted through possibilities.

"We could write to Ned," she finally stated, sitting up on the cot. Jamie squatted before the fire, his face unmoving in the light it cast. "He could come to defend Murtagh's case. You had no choice but to do what you did -- well, _he_ had no choice, in their minds -- and Ned can make them see that."

"D'ye think Major Adams --" Jamie's voice said the name sharply "-- will be givin' a full account of what happened here?" He turned over his shoulder to look at her. His normally ice blue eyes were dark, anguish written on his face that nearly brought her to tears again. "No, Sassenach. He'll report that he simply came across a rogue Scot doin' violence on the defenseless Englishman. Even if Murtagh told the truth of it, his word willna count much against Adams's and the others'."

"Surely you can't believe Lieutenant Foster would support such a claim?"

"He willna have a choice, Claire!" Jamie said, barely controlled anger starting to spill over as his eyes returned to the flames. He pulled the steaming meat away, blowing on it lightly before standing and stepping slowly to her. "Adams is the superior officer. What he says goes." Claire remembered how every officer under Black Jack Randall had cow-towed to his own sick commands. Sometimes with terror, sometimes disgust. But always did his bidding. Her heart sank as she acknowledged the truth of Jamie's words. 

Jamie held out the skewer to her, which she took with a sniff and hung her head. The cot shifted beside her as he sat. "Foster is a good man. I could see that. He wanted to help, but he's not a man to go against his superior, either."

"He saw me, you know," Claire whispered, twirling the still warm stick in her hand. She met her husband's eyes beside her. "I mean when we approached their camp, he was the only one to see that something was wrong." Fighting tears, she recounted the discreet conversation between herself and Foster, how he'd offered what aid he could. But as she did, she realized Jamie was right. He'd do his best within his means but not so far as to risk insubordination or worse on his own part.

A single cold tear meandered down her cheek. She wiped it away.

Jamie, for his part, listened with hardly a reaction to her words until she'd finished. Side by side, they sat in silence.

Seeing as how she wouldn't eat herself, he pulled the meat from the end of the skewer and handed it to her directly, only raising one eyebrow until she acquiesced and popped it into her mouth. Groaning, she didn't wait for him to hand her the rest of the food, pulling more meat from the stick and gobbling it in relief.

More than half the meat was gone when she made to hand the remainder to Jamie. He only shook his head.

"Eat, _mo chridhe_." The tenderness in his voice and his eyes made her heart stutter. "I'll bide."

"You're hurt," Claire reminded him. "You need your strength, too."

The corner of his mouth twitched for a second, and Claire smiled back at him as he took one piece of meat from the skewer and signaled for her to finish the rest. "I'll bide," he repeated as he chewed.

#

**July 5th, 1749**

**6:45 p.m.**

After another day and a few solid meals, Claire's spirits had risen and so had her strength. She and Jamie had left the second morning after the episode on the hill, both eager to return to Lallybroch even with the ever-present ache of their missing third traveler.

The journey was slow, Jamie unwilling to push Claire beyond her stamina or jostle her too roughly with a gallop. They stopped to make camp as the sun set on the fourth day, following the routine of the last several days but with a lightness as yet unmatched. They'd arrive home by mid morning tomorrow. They'd been tempted to push on, but Claire had hardly been able to keep her eyes open for the last two hours of riding, her head bobbing back and forth against her husband's chest as she fought against the tide of sleep.

"One more night willna matter, Sassenach," he said as he pulled her from the horse, much to her dismay. "I'd rather you eat and get solid sleep."

After the initial pouting, though, Claire yawned widely and saw the wisdom in continuing to take things slowly. They could surprise Jenny and Ian and the children in the morning. That thought made her smile as she set about building a fire.

Night came. They ate in silence, though always touching -- fingers twined together, her hand on his knee, his arm around her shoulders -- then sat beside the fire, staring into the flames. As tired as she had been on the road and as heavy as she knew both their hearts still weighed, contentment settled over the pair of them. Jamie finally pulled her to stand and laid her down on their bedroll. He settled behind her, his arm protectively draped around her and his hand on her womb. She felt him nuzzle her neck, heard him inhale the scent of her hair. Smiling to herself, she drifted off.

Waking early, they packed camp hastily and quietly before heading back toward Donas. Even Jamie struggled to keep from grinning or to maintain a moderate pace in his excitement to finally return home. And, as the sun approached the high point in the sky, they both breathed a shared sigh of relief crossing through the arch.

Jamie climbed down from the horse and was helping Claire off when the front door burst open. Two voices hollered out simultaneously, and her heart leapt into her throat.

"Milady!"

"Mama!"

When Claire's feet finally touched the ground, two small bodies collided heavily with hers. She encircled them in her arms, sinking to her knees to look into their faces, blurred as they were through her tears. Her fingers touched their cheeks, her eyes drinking them in so hungrily.

"Oh, my babies," she said, gathering them both to her chest. She didn't bother attempting to stifle the sobs that exploded from her, holding two of the most important people in her life whom she'd feared she'd seen for the final time. She planted kisses on brown and red curls alike, rubbing her hands along their backs as they, too, shook in her arms. Little arms threatened to strangle her, but she didn't care.

Safe. Home. All three children wrapped in her embrace.

Strong, warm arms gathered them all in together as Jamie also took a knee, his head resting atop Brianna's.

"Milord promised he'd bring you home, Milady," Fergus finally said into Claire's shoulder. "He told me you were ours."

"Aye," Jamie said, pulling his head up to look at Fergus, who'd done the same. He ruffled the boy's hair and smiled. "And she's here to stay now, lad."

"You are certain?" he asked, and Claire's heart broke for the worry and pain this entire debacle had caused her family. Her babies didn't deserve this anxiety, this fear. White hot anger at Frank surged through her once more, but she tamped it down. Now, she needed to focus on the love of those around her, not the darkness that had ensnared her for the past weeks.

Jamie nodded, face solemn. "We are certain. We need not fear him any longer."

Fergus, astute as he was, nodded once and leaned his head back on Claire's shoulder. Brianna, tears finally slowing, rested her own head on her mother's other shoulder, red-faced and exhausted.

Finally, Jamie stood. He tried to take Brianna in his arms, but she whimpered and clung to Claire. He looked to his wife, who smiled and nodded. Fergus stood, and the two men helped bring Claire to her feet, Brianna's arms gripped around her neck. Claire squeezed the child tighter.

The small family walked together toward the door, Fergus leading the group while Jamie kept a firm grip on Claire's waist as he guided her forward. They entered the home. For the first time since seeing Frank standing in her garden, Claire felt the fear leave her almost completely.

She was home.

Jenny and Ian stood in the entryway, eager to embrace Claire themselves, having patiently let the children enjoy a private moment on their own.

"Och, Claire," Jenny said, and she saw tear stains on the woman's cheeks. "Ye had us all scairt to death," Jenny chuckled as she embraced her sister. Brianna, who still refused to be let down, was squished in between but didn't seem to mind.

Just as Jenny backed away, Ian came forward with his own warm hug. "We kent Jamie would bring ye home," he said, looking to his friend over Claire's shoulder with a joyous smile. "I've never seen a horse run sae fast as Donas was when ye lit out of here."

Claire smiled back at both of them, still rubbing her hand soothingly along her daughter's back. She opened her mouth to speak but felt a lump in her throat, tears threatening to overtake her again. Jamie sensed her trouble and put his hand to her back.

"Ye need more rest, Sassenach," he said softly. "And with e'erything that's happened, ye should stay off your feet till the bairn arrives."

Jenny nodded in agreement. "Aye, ye should. Ye look worn to the bone as it is. Jamie'll take you upstairs, and Mrs. Crook will bring up somethin' for you to eat."

Normally, Claire would have resisted these attempts to coddle her or sideline her for the remaining eight or so weeks of her pregnancy. But she _felt_ worn to the bone still, and she thought about the horror of Faith's birth physically and emotionally. So she nodded slowly, allowing her husband to lead mother and daughter up the stairs. Fergus followed not far behind.

Once in their bedroom, Claire stood still a moment. She desperately wanted to take off her dirty clothes and wash herself. Bree's weight was also becoming a burden.

"Little dove," she whispered into Brianna's ear as she brushed her curls from her face. "Why don't you let Mama get into bed, then we can snuggle some more. Does that sound good?"

Brianna made a noise to protest, but Jamie wordlessly, gently pulled her from her mother's arms and enveloped Bree against his own chest. As her tears started again, he muttered Gaelic into her hair.

"Mama," she murmured, face screwed up as a meltdown approached.

"She'll be right back, _a leannan_ ," Jamie murmured, brushing his hand through her hair as he eased his way toward the door. "Will ye go with Fergus, lass, just for a minute?"

Before Brianna could answer either way, Jamie passed her to Fergus and, with a nod indicating they should stay close, the children left the room. Jamie and Claire waited with bated breath to see if a shriek would pierce the air as they closed the door, but none did. Claire sighed with relief, her shoulders sagging with the effort.

"Can I help ye get into bed, Sassenach?" Jamie asked, twining the fingers of both his hands with hers as well.

She nodded. "I'd like to wash first, though," she said. "I haven't since before..."

"Aye," Jamie whispered, bringing her to the chair near the hearth. He lit a fire, stoking it until it roared. The warm room meant a fire wasn't strictly necessary, but the crackle of flames had always soothed her soul. She thanked him in her thoughts, if not in words. Once the flames seemed healthy enough, Jamie exited the room without a word and returned with water and cloth for washing.

The next half hour passed in silence as Claire allowed Jamie to help undress and then scrub her dirty skin clean. Several times, she felt emotion overwhelming her again, constricting her chest and blocking her throat.

Being back home at Lallybroch, her two children and her husband by her side, felt rapturous. She'd all but buried them in the cemetery of her heart as Frank had pulled her up that wretched hill. Believing Jamie dead or dying and her children too far away to reach again, she'd said her goodbyes to them and already begun to mourn.

So to be back and to know that the man who'd tried to rip them away from her couldn't ever do so again...she was thankful.

But with it came darkness. Even if she knew she was safe, her family was safe, a hint of unease tickled at the base of her spine. She felt it like an ant crawling across her skin. Pain she'd been able to keep at bay with the anticipation of returning home could no longer be stymied. If she brought it forward, let herself name it and feel it, she feared she'd never be whole again.

So she said not a word.

Instead, she focused on Jamie's hands cleaning her, envisioning that the dirt he scrubbed from her body was, in fact, the worry and terror that had been her constant bedfellow for weeks. As the rag and water darkened with grime, she tried to imagine the taint of it flowing from her body. He brought the dampened rag to her shoulder, and she watched the rivulets of water running down her arm and willed the droplets to gather and carry away the black emotions still shrouding her mind.

His hands on her skin were gentle, his eyes when he looked up at her even softer. His gaze did more to calm her than her own mental detoxification, and she smiled back at him in some measure of peace. The darkness hadn't left her, but with Jamie's touch, she found she could box it up and seal it tight for a little while.

Once she was thoroughly cleaned and had donned a fresh shift, Jamie put his hands to her elbows and brought her to the bed. Claire moaned with pleasure as she sank into the pillows and mattress, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ," she whispered. "This bed has never been so comfortable."

Jamie perched on the edge beside her with a cautious smile. He placed his hand on her belly, stroking it slowly.

"The food will be here in a moment, Sassenach," he said. "And ye'll eat it. _All_ of it. I'll hear no argument." He narrowed his eyes in playful sternness before softening again. "Do ye want Brianna and Fergus in here wi' ye? I can tell them ye need yer rest."

"No," Claire said, sitting up against the headboard and rubbing her bump as well. She knit her fingers with her husband's atop it. "No, I want to be near them."

"Aye," he whispered. He placed a kiss on her forehead and stood, going to the door and opening it. Brianna sat in Fergus's lap against the wall just outside and jumped to her feet once the door was opened. She sprinted for the bed, but Jamie caught her round the middle.

"Careful, _a nighean_ ," he said before placing her beside her mother. "Yer mam needs rest. Ye must be careful wi' her, aye?"

Brianna only nodded as she crawled to lean against Claire's side, pulling her mother's arm to engulf her tiny body. Fergus lingered in the doorway until Claire waved him over. "You come too, Fergus," she said with a kindly smile and patted the open space beside Brianna. "I need to be around all of you for a little while."

The box threatened to spill open, but Claire snapped it back shut.

Mrs. Crook brought in a tray of broth and bread, which Jamie set on Claire's lap before taking up a spot beside Fergus. As Claire slowly ate her meal, she breathed in the smell of her family surrounding her, letting them ease the tension in her chest.

"Every drop, Sassenach," Jamie fussed as she tried to push away a half-full bowl. "Please," he added with more worry in his voice.

Claire sighed, clamping her lips momentarily before she picked up the bowl and sipped from the edge, downing the rest of the broth in one go. Eyes wide in innocent inquiry, she handed it back. "Good?" she asked.

Jamie's mask of annoyance slipped, his lips twitching, and Claire finally chuckled too. Seeing her smile seemed to ease the last of his own sternness, and he laughed too.

"Aye, Sassenach. Good," he responded, taking the bowl and setting it on the table. "Now sleep."

"You'll all stay with me?" she asked as, settling down against the pillow, she massaged her belly.

Jamie nodded, laying his own head down and draping an arm across Fergus. Brianna had long since fallen asleep against Claire's shoulder. "We'll be here, _mo nighean donn._ Now rest."

#

Once Claire fell asleep, she didn't so much as twitch. Some time after hers and the children's breathing grew slow and deep, Jamie eased himself from the bed and out the door. He stepped lightly down the hall and the stairs, joining Jenny and Ian in the sitting room as the late afternoon sun cast shadows through the windows.

"How's she doin', then?" Ian asked, filling a glass with whisky without even asking.

Jamie took a seat on the sofa beside him, Jenny across in a chair, knitting needles and yarn in her hands. He nodded slowly, cautiously. "Rest and food is what she needs, build her strength back up."

He paused a moment, knowing they both wanted details on just what had happened and where Frank was.

Where _Murtagh_ was.

Deciding they needed to know the full truth, he let the story unfold in hushed tones, eyes cast either at the hearth or his own glass, whisky swirling within.

"So Randall canna come back, then?" Jenny asked once he'd finished, knitting abandoned.

Jamie nodded. "No unless God himself breathes life back into the devil. He's gone for good."

Another long draw from his glass. "I dinna ken what to do about Murtagh," he admitted, not meeting their eyes. "I canna let the man hang for my own actions. Actions that were done for the sake of protecting my family."

"Claire was right," Jenny spoke up. "We need to send for Ned. Even if the damned Redcoats spin lies, we have to at least try."

"Last I heard," Ian added, "Ned was in Cranesmuir again. That's hardly a day away."

One slow nod as Jamie contemplated his glass. He drained it, Ian reaching across to refill by the time he'd lowered it. "Aye, we can write to Ned. I ken he'll go for Murtagh." He looked up to his sister and brother-in-law. "As will I."

"Ye canna mean that, _a brathair_?" Jenny demanded, her tone sharp.

"I dinna mean to be confessin' myself," he assured her. "Though I'd be a liar if I said the thought of stayin' silent and lettin' Murtagh claim my own crimes didna turn my wame with...with guilt and shame." He struck his fist against his knee with each word.

Ian's hand rested on Jamie's shoulder. "'Tis no shame in it, Jamie," Ian said. "Ye had to protect yer family, and Murtagh had to protect his."

Heat creeped up his throat, tightening the muscles there as he fought against the rising emotions. "Aye," Jamie repeated. "Aye, and Murtagh is my family. Should I not also try to protect him, if I can?"

"And what will ye do, then?" Jenny snapped.

"I can speak for him, tell the truth of the matter." Another long sip of whisky. "I doubt my word will count in their minds much more than Murtagh's own, but I canna allow those wretches to spin their own tales to hide their misdeeds and failures."

Jenny, unconvinced, persisted in her inquiry. "So ye'd leave Claire here, then? Heavy wi' child and after all she's been through? And risk missin' the birth?"

Carefully suppressed anger threatened to overflow from him. Only the need to not wake Claire kept him from shouting as he wished. "If I could rip myself in two and be in both places, I would, Janet. But I canna."

And that was the crux of the matter. He couldn't bear to sit at Lallybroch while Murtagh waited execution in Fort William. But neither could he stomach the thought of leaving Claire to suffer through childbirth without him. The idea of returning home only to find that the worst had come to pass -- as it had for his mother, as it nearly had for Claire herself in Paris -- pierced him like a dirk through the heart.

Jenny opened her mouth, the sound of an inhalation as she prepared her next barrage breaking the air, but the words never came. As his eyes remained on the glass in his hand, Jamie suspected Ian had curbed whatever response she had begun. He was grateful.

Ian stayed silent beside him, contemplating his own drink in his hand. After a moment, he looked to Jamie, and the men locked eyes.

"And how _is_ Claire?" Ian asked carefully, leaning back. "I could see in her face when she came inside. She's..."

"She'll be fine," Jamie cut his brother-in-law off. They sat in silence for a time, though Jamie's mind was anything but silent, moving from one heartache to the other.

He'd seen what Ian had, as well. A shadow behind her eyes. A tautness to her mouth and a tension across her shoulders. The ordeal was over, but not in her head. Jamie was familiar with that kind of pain, pain that lived inside you long after the body had healed. Not so long ago, his own soul had been so plagued with anguish he'd very nearly torn himself away from Claire forever, as even her touch -- her lovely touch, the one precious thing he'd always craved -- had been agonizing.

On the surface, he thought, his and Claire's experiences were vastly different. But beneath that?

Ripped away from the safety of family.

Constant fear of impending pain and death.

Believing yourself to be owned by another, controlled and made to do their bidding whether you will it or not.

Accepting that you'll never again touch or see the person who made your spirit whole.

No, Frank's forced march through the woods was not on the same level as the torture the man's ancestor had bestowed upon Jamie; that, he acknowledged. But he wondered if the mental toll, the spiritual aftermath of each of their individual journeys through hell were of a similar nature.

Claire was strong. But she'd never felt so fragile beneath his hands as she had when he cleansed her body and laid her to bed. Following her lead to stay silent, he'd watched covertly. So he'd seen the nervous biting of her lips, the furrowing and unfurrowing of her eyebrows as she tried and tried again to keep her face composed, the workings of her throat and slight tremor of her chin as she swallowed down fresh tears.

"Claire's in pain," Jamie faintly said, breaking the stillness of the room. He nodded once, continuing, "but 'tis a pain I'm familiar wi' myself." His gaze traveled toward the door of the laird's room, where his entire world continued to slumber in -- he hoped -- peace. "Experiences like this dinna always leave ye right away. Takes time. And love." Bringing his gaze back to his sister and brother-in-law, he heaved a great sigh. "Both of which, we have plenty to give."

They nodded, knowing enough of his own story to connect the dots without further discussion. For all the writhing torment he'd grappled with in the abbey, his own heart lightened now with the knowledge that his experience there may help him save his Claire. And there, on the couch, he made the decision between two of those he cared for the most, a choice he'd resented Jenny for forcing him to acknowledge only moments ago.

Claire had gotten him through his darkness, and now he'd guide her through her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a deeply emotional chapter for me to write as I wanted to do justice to all of the emotions surrounding this entire ordeal for both Claire and Jamie. They are both fighting against a deluge of heartache right now, and it won't be as easy as just going home and returning to normal for either of them. 
> 
> After this chapter, I'm estimating three more chapters until the end of this story, my very first fanfic (at least since my high school days). Since they're not written at this point, my goal at this point is to finish a chapter a week for you guys. I hope you've enjoyed the bombardment of chapters the last few days! I promise to keep at it and not make you wait too long before we continue.


	16. The Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As life returns to normal, Lallybroch hosts an unexpected guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So The Aftermath: Part II was becoming monstrously long, so I figured you'd enjoy a chapter between. ;) Enjoy.
> 
> Also, I realized a few chapters ago that I'm like two kids behind for Jenny and Ian....since their kids don't play much of a role honestly, I just ran with it, so for all intents and purposes, Jenny and Ian only have the two children right now.

"Damn it all to hell!"

"What's the matter?" Claire asked coming around the corner and wiping her hands on her apron.

Frank sighed, slamming the drawers of his desk shut, and grumbled, his fist pressed against his lips. "I cannot find my lucky letter opener," he muttered, tone imbued with frustration and anger.

She huffed out an exasperated sigh. "I nearly dropped the casserole dish from your outburst over a letter opener?" she said, a teasing note in her voice.

The look in Frank's eyes as he glared at her sent ice through her spine, coldness spreading from her center through her limbs.

"It's an important letter," he said through gritted teeth. "The most important." Claire stood and watched as he searched some more, but no letter opener appeared.

Finally, Frank heaved another sigh and reached into his waistband. "Well, if I can't find the letter opener, this will have to do."

His fingers gripped the handle of a knife, longer as her forearm with an aged hilt. Ancient, it looked. No ordinary kitchen or hunting knife. The sight sent shockwaves through Claire, though she couldn't quite determine why. Using such a tool to open a letter still seemed like overkill, though she allowed him his quirks. He must have received important news regarding his research grant; he'd been waiting on word on that for years. So Claire allowed him his superstitious traditions as she watched him slice the envelope and pull out a sheet of paper.

Yellowed and worn, the letter was. She wondered just how this could be about the grant application he'd sent in so long ago -- must have been five years ago or more -- since it looked like a piece of history itself.As he read over it, his features lit with a delight she hadn't seen on his face in an age.

"Good news, then?" she inquired, stepping up to him with a smile.

"Yes, my darling," he said, his joy seeming to grow with each passing moment. "Take a look."

He handed her the paper then, and she looked. She'd been right; it was quite old. An execution notice from 1749 for a man named --

"Murtagh," she breathed. All at once, memories swarmed her of a gruff man with dark hair and a thick beard that moved just so when he smiled, eyes that shone when he laughed.

"Yes," Frank said nonchalantly. "And that's not all. This one, too."

He produced another sheet -- had it been in the envelope, too? Identical except for the name.

James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.

Flashes of blue eyes and red curls swarmed her mind as though reading the name opened a doorway into a world she'd entirely forgotten. As the images piled atop each other, pain unlike any she'd ever felt cut her from the inside out.

"No," she said. The names of these dead men, foreign yet somehow more familiar and real than the paper on which they were written, brought with them a sense of unutterable grief. Never had an emotion felt so acutely physical as this did. Claire found herself doubled over, hands on the edge of the desk and head bowed as she struggled to breathe.

"Yes, darling," Frank said. Either he didn't notice his wife's distress or he didn't care, his tone light and excited. "Two more to add to the collection."

"Collection?"

Only then did she look on his desk to see more death notices spread across the surface. Each name she read and recognized slashed at her like claws.

Fergus Fraser.

Ian Murray.

Brianna Fraser.

James Murray.

Margaret Murray.

Faith Fraser.

Janet Murray.

_William Fraser._

Her hands flew to her stomach, just now remembering the life that was supposed to be there. But her belly was flat beneath the rough fabric of her apron.

"No, this can't be right." She didn't sound like herself. Such a strange observation to make just at that moment, how her voice shook and cracked in a way she'd never heard herself before.

Frank's chuckle was another gouge in her soul. "Of course it's right," he said. "They're dead and buried in the past, where they belong. You should know. You did it to them."

Claire collapsed then as the memories and the truth of his words washed over her. She'd killed them. Her whole family, she'd killed them. Frank only watched, disinterested, as she curled in on herself and cried, wishing with every tear and breath and second to join them all.

**July 18, 1749**

**5:20 a.m.**

She woke sobbing. Pillow damp with tears and her chest heaving with panicked gasps. So strong had the dream been that it took her a moment to register the dark blue wallpaper lining the laird's room. Turning, she reached for Jamie beside her only to find his side of the bed cold.

The sight of Jamie's name on an execution notice, even one concocted within her own thoughts, was enough to send her bolting from bed. She needed to find him, put her hands on his skin and assure herself that all the names of those she'd lost in her dream were, in fact, alive and well.

Wrapping a shawl around herself, she waddled toward the stairs. Someone was already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for the rest of the house that would soon be bustling with bodies. Seeing Jamie absent from the sitting room and the study, Claire snuck past the kitchen toward the door.

She hardly noticed the distance she walked from the house to the stable. When she next blinked, she stood just inside the barn doors, looking at her husband's back as he brushed Donas. She must have made some noise as he turned sharply. Taking in her appearance, he smiled before furrowing his eyebrows and turning around. "Sassenach?" he asked, taking steps toward her as she remained frozen at the entrance.

She shook her head, clearing it of the images that had tormented her in her dreams. "I'm sorry," she said. She pulled the shawl tight about her arms. "You were gone when I woke, and I just..."

"Aye, I'm sorry, lass," Jamie replied, softness in his voice. "I only wanted to get an early start today. Couldna much sleep."

Claire nodded. Life had returned to normal as much as was possible since their return nearly a fortnight ago, though neither Fraser slept particularly well. When Baby Fraser wasn't keeping Claire up all night, the nightmares were. Jamie, too, seemed plagued by nocturnal terrors. Often, she'd hear his breathing increase or muted whimpers as his body twitched. Sometimes, if his arms were already wrapped about her body, she'd feel his grip tighten as though she were a life raft in the middle of the vastest of oceans. When she could, she'd coax him into peace with soft touches to his face and whispers of her love in his ear. But even as she'd watch his features relax, her own remained taut in fretful sleep, whenever she could actually drift off.

As much as possible, Claire kept her dreams to herself. With Jamie fighting through his own internal struggles, she was loathe to add to it by causing him to worry over her or the baby. Instead, she obeyed his wishes to remain in bed or, at least, downstairs on the couch where she could interact with the children and Jenny. Every day was a struggle to keep a lid on the box she'd sealed up tight upon their return to Lallybroch, but sitting with Brianna by the hearth or sipping tea with Jenny or trying to learn to knit with Fergus all helped her to maintain control.

And Jamie, too. His touches, his smiles and kisses eased her. Just being in his presence set her to rights when her mind keeled and her skin crawled to the point of wanting to pull out her own hair. Now, standing here in this barn, she felt her breath slow as he walked towards her and placed a hand to her neck.

" _Mo nighean donn,_ " he whispered, one corner of his mouth turning upward. But his eyes still shone with sadness. "Will ye tell me what troubles you?" His thumb smoothed over her jawline, back and forth, caresses of comfort and love.

Warmth flowed from that touch. Claire exhaled, forcing herself to let the dream dissipate and flow away like sand through her fingers.

"Nothing," she said as she leaned into his chest. Arms encircled her and held her tight against him. As tightly as her swollen womb would allow, anyway. "I just needed to tell you good morning."

She heard him swallow, felt his breath catch as he hesitated to speak. A sigh rattled in his chest beneath her ear as he tightened his arms again. "Good mornin', Sassenach."

#

**July 20, 1749**

**11:15 a.m.**

Jamie's anxiety was growing. Four days after returning, word had come to Lallybroch that Ned Gowan wasn't, in fact, in Cranesmuir anymore. Last anyone knew, he'd returned to Edinburgh for a new case. Undeterred, Jamie wrote another letter and sent it off that very day, hoping it would find its way to the solicitor and that he'd be able to come in time.

That was ten days ago. The ride to Edinburgh was farther than Cranesmuir, of course, but each day that passed without a response ate away at his heart. Each day that passed was another day that may bring Murtagh's death before anyone could intervene for him.

Sitting in the laird's study combing over ledgers and bills, Fergus bursted through the doors.

"Milord," he panted. "Redcoats."

Jamie was out of his chair and brushing past the boy before he could blink. Jenny and Ian sat in the kitchen, faces worried as Mrs. Crook wrung her hands behind them. "Stay here," he commanded as he strode to the entry and through the door into the yard.

Fergus's report was only slightly wrong. _Redcoat_ , singular. Only one man sat atop his horse just inside of the archway. As Jamie approached, the man swung down and stood at attention with his tricorn in hand, awaiting Laird Broch Tuarach's welcome.

"Lieutenant Foster," Jamie said, not hiding the surprise in his tone. "I canna say I expected to see ye again." He approached the Redcoat with long, slow steps. Jamie maintained a defensive posture until the soldier made some indication of his intentions.

The soldier nodded once, his eyes focused and determined as he looked into Jamie's. "Mr. Fraser," Foster said. "I had hoped to speak with you and Mrs. Fraser." When Jamie hesitated, he added, "It's regarding your kinsman."

Like a boulder dropping into a lake, the words landed in Jamie's stomach and stole his breath. Foster's face proved impossible to read. Did he bring news of Murtagh's death? Were they too late to do anything to save him?

Finally, Jamie nodded and gestured for the man to follow him to the house. Leading a Redcoat willingly through his door gave him an uncomfortable tingling in his fingers and down his spine. The surreality of it enveloped him as they walked through the entry and into the study.

He left Foster there and rushed to Jenny in the kitchen. "Go upstairs and help Claire dress, then bring her to the study," he muttered to her. Having slept hardly a wink the night before, Claire had remained in bed much of the day. Half of him had wanted to check on her, worried over how exhausted she'd been of late, but half wanted her to get whatever rest she could without his own nervous interference.

Jamie didn't wait to hear his sister's response or to field any of the questions or chiding undoubtedly working their way to her tongue. Instead, he turned and went directly to Foster, who stood precisely where Jamie left him in front of the desk. He offered the man a whisky, which was denied. Gesturing then to a pair of chairs near the empty hearth, Jamie waited for the lieutenant to sit before doing the same himself, and they awaited Claire's entrance in silence.

But as they sat there, questions that had nagged him for weeks swirled in his brain. Casting a glance toward the closed doors to ensure they were still alone, Jamie spoke.

"Claire told me what ye did for her," he began, looking to Foster in the seat across from him. Even after Foster's role in mediating the confrontation near the stones, Jamie yearned to understand why. His own experiences and distrust of the British and the Redcoats made believing any one of them to be decent a Herculean task in his mind. Had the man truly helped her for her own sake or some selfish reason as yet unknown? What threat could he possibly still pose to them?

He needed to know. So he carried on, "That ye reached out to her when ye sensed that she was in trouble. Why did ye?"

For the first time since meeting him, Lieutenant Foster fidgeted uncomfortably. Sounds of the children bounding up or down the stairs reached them, muffled through the closed doors. When Foster spoke, his voice was just as crisp and clear as ever, but Jamie could see the feeling he tried to hide in his eyes. "It's not the Army's practice to police any man's marriage, of course. And I've seen a fair many...unpleasant matches, to say the least." He paused.

"She clearly feared him. That's not so unusual, though. But the tension between them...something about it wasn't right. And with her advanced pregnancy, I worried that she may have been in physical danger from him. She or the child."

The words felt heavy in the air. Though his tone held no more emotion than any other time he'd ever spoken, Jamie could sense the gravity of Foster's statement. A momentary furrowing of the eyebrows was all that betrayed the soldier's inner thoughts before he carried on.

"Not so long ago, I made myself a promise. It's not a soldier's place to interfere with individual matters such as that, but I also cannot abide a man harming his wife or child. I hoped to ascertain the welfare of the lady or ensure her safety as necessary."

Foster paused again. Only for a moment did Jamie wonder whom in Foster's life had suffered such abuse. His mother? A sister? A lass he'd loved from afar? Had someone lost a child? Did he step in to help then, or was it guilt over remaining silent that had spurred him to action? Specifics weren't important; the vague details as yet shared and the flashes of pain on Foster's face as his neutral mask slipped from time to time told Jamie all he needed to know.

"Of course, learning of her true predicament was a shock." Foster looked down at his knees, knitting his eyebrows together. "I regret that I didn't have a better handle on what to do earlier to have curtailed the...unfortunate meeting that came after. I had hoped that Mrs. Fraser and Mr. Randall would bide the night at our base, suggested it to Major Adams even, so as to take time to consider a course of action to aid her. But when Mr. Randall refused and we pressed on, I had no better options to help."

Foster's face, when he raised it again, showed deep sorrow. "I did want to help her, Mr. Fraser."

"You did," Jamie contradicted him. "Help her, I mean. And I thank ye, truly, for the care you showed to my wife when I couldna be by her side," Jamie responded and found a lump in his throat. The rising emotion surprised him. Yes, the entire ordeal still felt raw at times, but he hadn't realized just how important the true motives behind Foster's aid were to him, nor had he realized how much he'd needed to tell this man -- the man who'd seen her, believed her -- his gratitude.

Before either could speak again, the door opened and Claire walked in. She seemed pale, Jamie noted, but she strode with purpose toward them. "Lieutenant Foster," she greeted warmly if tersely, the tension clear in the set of her shoulders.

"Mrs. Fraser," the Redcoat replied, standing to bow to her. Moving aside, he motioned for Claire to take his own seat. Exhaling slowly, she sank into the chair and rested her hands on her belly. Both sets of eyes trained expectantly on the soldier. Foster collected his features and adopted his former detached facade. Jamie reached for his wife's hand, taking it between both his own before stating, "Ye said ye had news of my kinsman, Murtagh Fitzgibbons?"

Foster nodded. Only the inflation of his chest as he took a deep breath hinted at his state of mind as he dove in. "Yes. Mr. Fitzgibbons was brought to Fort William after our...encounter to await trial for murder."

Jamie clenched his jaw, saying nothing to let the man continue.

"I read the report drawn by Major Adams," Foster continued, "which excluded much of what transpired in the woods outside Inverness and likely would have resulted in a death sentence as written." Another breath. "I couldn't help Mrs. Fraser escape, but I could help Mr. Fitzgibbons."

He felt Claire's grip tighten around his own. "How?" she asked.

"I am acquainted with a Colonel Harold Grey of the Forty-sixth Regiment of Foot, having performed a service for his younger brother some time ago," Foster responded. "The Greys also reside in influential circles. So I approached the man, petitioned for him to vouch for Mr. Fitzgibbons's pardon.

"And as I was meeting with Colonel Grey, word came from Fort William that Ned Gowan had contacted them, wishing to intercede in Mr. Fitzgibbons's defense."

All the air whooshed from Jamie's lungs hearing this. _Thank Christ_ , he thought, relief clouding his mind. Lieutenant Foster did not pause in his recounting, reaching inside his coat to retrieve a folded letter.

"After meeting with me, Mr. Gowan drew up a petition of complaint on Major Adams," he said, "specifically detailing the true events and the circumstances surrounding the death of Mr. Randall." The soldier cleared his throat. "I've signed it, as well as Corporal Higgins, who was there that day. I've come to obtain your two signatures, as well as Colonel Grey's."

"And what will this do?" Jamie asked. Heart straining against his chest, his words sounded breathless even to his own ears. But he didn't care.

A shadow of a smile lit Foster's features. "Well, there's no guarantee. But at the very least, we're confident we can avoid a sentence of execution. Beyond that is uncertain until we stand before the judge."

The fist that had squeezed Jamie's heart for so many weeks, strong as iron, loosened at long last. In its place was the warm touch of hope.

_Murtagh may come home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I began this story, Murtagh's taking the blame for Jamie was not something I expected to happen, but as the Redcoats became involved and their role grew larger in the journey to the stones, it just became the clearest thing in my mind. There was no getting around it: Murtagh would sacrifice himself to save Claire and Jamie. But all is not hopeless....can Foster and Ned rally to save him?! 
> 
> I'd also wanted a little more backstory, vague as it still is, for Lieut. Foster and why (besides him just being a genuinely good person) he'd be compelled to help Claire and Jamie at all. 
> 
> Get pumped for The Aftermath: Part II. Hopefully it'll be ready in the next few days, but this is another emotional chapter for our heroes.


	17. The Aftermath: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire must confront the emotions she's avoided since her trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible TW: Discussing past child loss; very brief mention of BJR's treatment of Claire

Claire's mind reeled from the afternoon revelations. After Foster's speech, he'd given her and Jamie some time to read over the petition and sign it, asserting its veracity. Jamie hadn't uttered a word since, and the room practically vibrated in penetrating silence.

After inking the petition, Jamie sat frozen in his seat. Claire, through her own shock, took a breath and stepped into the shoes of hostess. With a wave toward the door, she escorted Lieutenant Foster out of the office and toward the front entry again. Jenny and Ian were nowhere to be found, likely still sequestered in the kitchen, awaiting news. But as they passed the staircase, a red-haired blur rushed at her and clasped at her legs.

"Mama, dinna leave again?" Brianna said with trembling lips, her statement ending on a high note as though it were a question. Brianna looked up at Foster's towering form with her chin tilted downward, body half hidden behind Claire's skirts.

With a grunt of exertion, Claire bent and picked up her child, settling Brianna on her hip. "Oh, little dove, I'm not going anywhere. I'm just seeing our friend, Lieutenant Foster, to his horse."

The girl's eyes went wide. "No, Mama!" she said. She leaned over to whisper loudly in Claire's ear, "Redcoats bad men, Mama," as though her mother had forgotten something most basic like how to blink her eyes.

She shot a remorseful look at the lieutenant who only wordlessly bowed his head, deflecting apologies. "No, Brianna. He's a friend. He's going to help us and Murtagh."

In a flash, Bree seemed to overcome her distress. Toddler defiance, the same that led to countless tantrums and standoffs about hair brushing and bedtimes and clean plates, shone from her eyes as she glared -- for surely that was the only word to describe the narrowing of her golden eyes, the purse of her pink lips -- at Foster. "Mama and Da canna go wi' you," she demanded. "They stay _here_."

Claire felt a rush of love for her tiny daughter, so brave and fierce, but also embarrassment. She took a breath to tell Bree off, but Foster beat her to it. "No need to fret, Ms. Brianna," he replied in a tone so matter of fact they may have been discussing the weather. "Your mother and father will remain here with you. I'm just taking my leave of them myself."

Brianna only wound her fingers through Claire's curls, twirling a strand through her little fingers as she kept a suspicious eye on the Redcoat before her. Claire smiled and beckoned for Foster to follow her the rest of the way through Lallybroch and into the yard. She motioned to Fergus as they exited, who ran to prepare the man's horse.

"I, ah," Claire stumbled, "apologize for my daughter's words. And Jamie's...well..." She swallowed. "The last weeks have not been easy on any of us, as I'm sure you understand."

Foster smiled, a gentle calm beneath. "No apologies necessary, Mistress Fraser," he answered her. "I only hope my small contribution can help bring your family peace."

"Yes. I wanted to thank you, Lieutenant," Claire said as they waited.

"In truth, madam, I've not done much," he responded in his clipped tone but not without warmth.

"No," she said. "Knowing that, in the midst of everything going on and surrounded by enemies, there was one person on my side...it made a difference to me."

Fergus led the steed into the dooryard, and Foster nodded once. "I am glad, at that." He bowed before donning his hat. "It has been a pleasure to know you and your husband both, Mistress Fraser. I shall be in touch as soon as we know more." And with that, he mounted and rode through the arch and out of sight.

Claire remained outside for some minutes after his departure, holding Bree tightly to her even as her back protested. With the soldier's departure, Bree slumped onto Claire's shoulder, apparently depleted by her valiant confrontation with the Redcoat. Even so, Claire stayed put.

Part of her dreaded going back inside to Jamie. She knew that Murtagh's fate had weighed heavily on his mind, guilt over his own role -- necessary as it was -- in his godfather's arrest threatening to crush him. But watching the color drain from his face, his eyes wide as he listened to Foster's words...her own guilt threatened to topple her where she stood as she had watched her husband's pain overtake him.

"Fergus," she called the boy over, "please take Brianna back inside." The latter whined a bit as Claire set her down with a sigh of relief.

" _Ma soeur_ ," Fergus jumped in, taking her hand, "do you want to see the new kittens in the barn?" She gasped in delight and went with Fergus without a second glance to her mother. The boy, though, did spare a look and a nod to Claire before guiding Brianna toward the barn.

With a sigh and a hand to her belly where three strong kicks in quick succession gave her strength, Claire turned and went back to the house. She bypassed Jenny and Ian, knowing even as she did how desperate they were for news, as well. But right now, she needed to see Jamie.

He hadn't moved from his seat in the study. Claire entered, shutting the door softly behind her. Slow steps toward his chair, where he sat with his head in his hands. The closer she got, her stomach lurched to see his shoulders shaking, hear his gasping sobs. Heated moisture rose to her own eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. Claire collapsed before him, her hands searching out his own clutched to his face. She rested her forehead against his knee to fight her own tears. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault."

Jamie's sobs stopped short. "What do ye mean, Sassenach?" he asked.

She shook her head, forehead rolling across his firm knee. "Whatever happens to Murtagh is because of me," she whispered. Tremors shook her hands, still gripping tightly to Jamie's. "Because you came for me."

"Sassenach." The endearment held such tenderness it broke her heart. She didn't deserve it. "Please look at me, lass."

When she didn't move, Jamie put his hand beneath her chin and gently pulled her eyes up to face his. Red-rimmed with crying but vibrant blue that seemed to look straight through her. And an incredulous smile creeping up his lips. "Did ye no hear what the man said, Sassenach?" he asked. "They think they can save his life. These are no tears of sorrow, _mo chridhe,_ but joy."

Claire shook her head. Remorse so potent it had felt like an ever present knife in her gut stabbed her again now, harder, hotter."But there's no guarantee. And whether he's executed or imprisoned, whatever happens to him is my fault."

Sobs choked their way from her throat, as much as she tried to stifle them. She swayed with the effort of caging them. Without a word, Jamie grabbed her arms and pulled her to his lap. One arm wrapped protectively around her waist, anchoring her to him, as the other touched her cheek.

"Sassenach, I've worried myself sick for weeks that Murtagh would face the noose for what I did. For something I'd gladly do again because it was to keep you safe, _mo nighean donn_. My dreams are filled wi' images of what I couldna stop from comin' to pass, and my heart has ached to think I canna do a thing for him now but wait."

Nothing she hadn't already known, but hearing it said aloud in his own voice tore at her. She focused on the cadence of his voice, his calloused thumb grazing her cheek. "So to hear that there is _hope_ , that for once the Redcoats are workin' to help us instead of cuttin' us down...Christ, Claire, I havena felt so happy in weeks.

"Even if he must face prison, he shall live. If that is the price for riddin' our lives of Randalls for good, he and I both could pay it with smiles on our faces."

 _Randalls_. Bloody fucking Randalls, living in her head.

Black Jack Randall sneering at her as he cut through the laces of her bodice at Fort William.

Frank Randall, husband, kind eyes stealing a last glimpse of her before leaving the room, not knowing it would be the final one.

Frank Randall, abductor, all fury and power in that moment after she'd stuck him with the fork when she'd been sure he'd kill her after all.

The box sheltering the darkness in her mind stirred as though the force inside was awakening, stretching and yawning and looking to escape.

"This isna all about Murtagh, _mo graidh_ ," Jamie whispered in response to her silence. "Ye've carried pain in yer heart for weeks now." She felt a shaky exhale across her face, her eyes still averted from his. His hand dropped from her cheek to press against her chest. She just knew he could feel the racing heartbeat beneath his touch. "Please share it, Claire. Tell me how I can help ye."

The lightness in him vanished with these words, replaced with heaviness, worry again. His plea rattled her, the ragged edge of his voice revealing just how helpless he felt. Never had she dreamed her husband would feel helpless, certainly not for her or in her embrace. Their arms -- hers and his -- were places of sanctuary and strength for the other. To sit here wrapped together and still feel the desolation in his speech...that was her fault, too.

"Dinna turn from me, Claire," Jamie commanded, loving but firm, as she unconsciously did just that. He pulled her face to look back into his. "Ye said before that it was yer fault. What did that mean, Claire?"

In her mind, the ephemeral being inside the box strained against the hinges. She used all the force of will she possessed to hold it closed.

"Jamie, I can't--"

"I tried to keep my pain from you," he cut her off, color rising in his cheeks. "In the abbey after Wentworth and then later in Paris, I tried to hide it all from you, and you wouldna let me. Ye wouldna let me hide inside myself and leave ye behind. And it hurt to share. Hurt beyond what words can convey," Jamie admitted with a single nod. "But wi'out the tellin' of it, I couldna come back to ye."

He buried his face in her neck. "I meant what I said at the stones. I canna live wi'out ye, _mo Sorcha_. I need ye to come back to me now, and ye need to share what's plagued your heart to do so."

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she fought against the impulse to break down completely. Her fingers found purchase in his curls, holding on and pressing her forehead to the crown of his head as she steadied herself and closed her eyes. She knew he was right. Knew as much as she tried to keep the lid shut on the box in her mind that it would one day explode and take her with it, shrapnel of her soul tearing her apart if she let it. But part of her still feared putting words to the guilt and sorrow in her heart. Wouldn't it devour her if she did?

Jamie lifted his head. Her eyes opened, staring directly into bright blue. An involuntary sigh as her muscles unclenched.

He would protect her from it, she knew. He would never let her go, never let anything take her whether it was inside her mind or outside it.

_It seems I cannot possess your soul without losing my own._

He'd relinquished his own soul to her care long ago, trusted her to carry him through a battlefield he couldn't face on his own. Now, she needed to follow suit.

"It's my fault," she said, hardly above a whisper, "because I didn't listen to you." A moment to steady her breath, control her tears. Jamie waited with patience. "Just like with what happened before Fort William, I thought I knew better. That you were only being stubborn, not practical."

She swiped away at a rolling tear just beneath her eye. "You were afraid...afraid he'd come back." Somehow, Claire couldn't stomach saying her first husband's name as she bared the darkest workings of her mind that had ensnared her like an insect in a web. "And you said not to leave the house, but I went and I took Bree, and if he'd done anything to her --"

"But he didna," Jamie cut her off.

"I couldn't have known that," Claire retorted. A warm lump ached in her throat. "If he'd hurt Bree or William," she looked down to her stomach before squeezing her eyes shut, "I couldn't live with myself.

"And now Murtagh could face prison or worse. And it's because of me. And your touch is all that keeps me sane, Jamie, but I have no idea how you can stand to look at me, let alone touch me for leading him away from you."

The box sprang open as Claire spoke, and she let herself feel the pain of it. Perhaps that's what she deserved. Not the numbness of hard-fought control or barely suppressed emotion. Not the momentary tranquility to be found in her husband's arms. No, her own insolence had earned her this burning shame. She shouldn't hide from it. Penance could only come from letting it consume her whole, and Claire finally submitted to it.

Her face again turned away from Jamie's. Depending on his strength to save her from this torment was her own weakness. But as she tried to pull away, he held her in place.

"Claire," he breathed her name. "Lass, ye canna believe what you're sayin' now."

"It's the truth," she sobbed.

A warm touch came back to her cheek, forcing her eyes toward his. "Sassenach, this is nothin' like Fort William. And ye ken well that once you shared the full story I didna blame ye for that, either. But even so, here, we are'na in an unfamiliar place on the run from Redcoats.

" _Mo chridhe_ , this is _yer_ home," he said. His fingers swept gently across her face before sliding into her hair and stroking her neck beneath her curls. "These are _yer_ lands. Aye, I asked ye to stay close by the house because of my own fears about Frank, about the bairn." Jamie swallowed, but his fingers never stopped their tender comfort. "But ye've every right to feel safe and secure in yer home. His takin' ye from the gardens is no different than if he'd burst through the doors and dragged ye from there.

"Ye did nothin' wrong, Claire," Jamie repeated, sureness in his eyes and voice. His gaze never left hers as he shook his head back and forth, his vibrant curls bouncing slightly as he did. "And Murtagh isna yer fault either. If there's one other man on this earth besides myself I'd entrust my family's safety to, who I ken would lay his own life down to see ye well, 'tis Murtagh. He came wi' me after you because you are his family as much as I."

Tendrils of light poked through the darkness that clouded her mind. She felt them waging war, the black fog that suffocated her and the flickers of redeeming flame Jamie's solace ignited.

Claire wanted to believe his words. Wanted to let him absolve her of responsibility in the harm done to herself, to her daughter, to Murtagh and the rest of their family. How easy it would be for his claims to wash over her, clear her spirit of all that had weighed it down for so many weeks now. But still, the core of her soul that sought atonement wouldn't allow her to give in to the temptation of redemption. Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. A shaky breath tickled her lips as she exhaled and dropped her forehead to Jamie's shoulder.

"I see him," she murmured against his shirt. "In my dreams, he tells me I've killed you all. I find your bodies or news of your deaths, and I can't breathe with the sheer, visceral torture of knowing you're all gone. And he tells me it's my fault, and I know it is, and I want to lie dead with all of you but I can't." Somewhere in the back of her mind, she noticed her hands trembling as they pulled even harder at Jamie's hair. "I brought this on you and on everyone else.

"And I'm terrified about what I'll bring to _his_ life." One hand came down to clutch at her belly, where wee William kicked at her stomach like he was jumping on a trampoline as her heart sped. "I couldn't protect Brianna, and Faith..."

 _Focus, Beauchamp_ , she admonished herself. She held on to the last shred of strength within her to push forward.

"Jamie, these children are pieces of my heart living outside of my body," she whispered shakily. "To think that not only could I fail to keep them safe but actually bring harm down on them..."

" _Mo nighean donn_ ," Jamie sobbed, his voice raspy. "Ye've brought harm to none of them. Brianna was scared, but she was unhurt and found quickly, thanks to ye. And ye very nearly lost everything else in your life that mattered in the name of keeping Frank from hurting wee William." His lips pressed to her hair.

"And Faith?" she asked. Again, she shook her head still pressed into his neck, rolling back and forth across his shoulder as she continued to avoid his gaze. "Am I not responsible for that?"

"We both had our roles to play in what happened to our Faith," Jamie responded, bitterness invading his unwavering gentle tone for the first time. But not at her, she realized as she felt his fingers grasp onto her tighter, digging into her flesh in sharp points at her waist and neck. "And when we stand before God, we'll both have to account for it. Or He'll have to account to us for stealin' her away," he muttered nearly as an afterthought. Claire lifted her head to meet his eyes now, his heated blasphemy startling enough to halt her despair. Unyielding fire of long-carried grief and rage burned behind the ice blue as he bored into her with his stare.

"But we agreed," he carried on, brows raised and eyes steady, "that 'twas a burden too large for either of us to bear alone. We'd carry it together. So I willna allow ye to take it all upon yourself in your fear and sorrow now, _mo graidh_ ," he whispered. "And I willna have ye takin' blame on yourself for the wicked acts of another. So if that's what haunts you, Sassenach, release it now and be free from it."

Her fingers twirled Jamie's red curls, much as Brianna had done to her own hair not half an hour ago. Claire nearly laughed to notice the shared nervous habit of mother and daughter, but didn't.

"Even if I could," she said, weaving strands through her fingers, "I can't just release the fear of what will happen to them all. Fergus, Bree, William..." Swallowing, shoulders tensing then releasing as Claire forced composure onto herself.

"Neither can I," Jamie agreed. His words were breathless, as though the air had evaporated from his lungs to speak his own fears aloud. "But we've learned much and will continue to do so. And whatever dangers we may yet face, we shall face them together, Sassenach. 'Tis my promise to you." Eyes still connected, blue to amber, Jamie's hand left Claire's neck to grasp her own, untwining her from his locks. He pressed her knuckles to his lips and kissed her there, eyes shut softly.

For all she felt the truth in her own shame, the truth that emanated from Jamie overwhelmed her. His sweet touches, his honest succor cast blinding light upon the black shadows. Warmth radiated from where his lips landed on her fingers. The darkness in her mind wanted her to fight it, to ward it off and stay alone in the blackness. Her chest heaved with the strain of conquering that instinct. The path of the warmth seeped through her as a tangible sensation, water running over her skin or fingertips tracing her curves. Comforting heat spread from fingers to arms to neck and chest and stomach.

As she accepted this gift from him, her muscles relaxed and her breath slowed. Jamie noticed. "Aye, _mo nighean_. Let it leave ye now."

Embers of grace and love coursing through her reached her eyes, hot tears stinging. He nodded once, and she let go of the mask she'd so desperately worn. Arms crushed her to him, the solid form of their child heavy between them, as sobs wracked her body.

By the time Claire stilled, her head ached with the force of her cries and the demands of the day. Still, she lay collapsed on Jamie's chest. His own arms never wavered, though he must have been just as exhausted from bracing her. Sitting up, she looked into his face. Love overwhelmed her, and she saw it reflected from him as well. She touched her lips to his, a gentle pressure, a thank you for sheltering her from demons no one could touch. No sense of seduction arose as he returned her kiss and their lips mingled and worshiped each other. Only comfort and connection. His hands soothed their child in her womb as she stroked his face. A groan from deep in his chest echoed her own relief to share such delicate love with him again. 

After a moment, it occurred to her that she hadn't kissed her husband like this since before Frank had dragged her from Lallybroch. They'd embraced or left kisses on fingers and cheeks and foreheads. But some part of her had held back from expressing this intimacy with him through their lips.

She accepted it from him now.

The box had been opened and, as such, could never be shut and sealed again. And while some part of her knew then that hard days remained for her as she grappled with the wrongs done to her and their family, she made herself a silent vow. A vow to always fight for the good of her family, even if that meant battling enemies within herself. A vow to share her burdens with Jamie as they'd shared so many already.

Pulling apart, their eyes met again before she leaned back against his shoulder. She exhaled deeply and, at last, felt safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a highly emotional chapter for me, and I hope it comes across for you, as well. To me, this entire story centers around the terror both Jamie and Claire have around pregnancy and childbearing because of what happened with Faith. Even if they manage to ever have a pregnancy without threat of war or political intrigue or abduction, they likely will never have a truly peaceful pregnancy because of this underlying fear they share. So naturally, Claire's guilt and emotions stemming from her ordeal with Frank circle back around to this pervasive fear that will never leave her. 
> 
> I've tried very hard to handle the subject of her post-traumatic emotions and her feelings surrounding Faith's death with sensitivity and respect while staying true to what we know about the character. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your encouragement and for sticking around through this story! After this chapter, there are only TWO left until this story is complete. I cannot wait to get them finished and shared with you. Thank you all so much.


	18. Twelve Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire faces two medical challenges during an eventful day at Lallybroch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait on this one! I knew what needed to happen, but not how. But I finally figured out the last little tidbit today and am so excited to share this with you. And it's extra long to make up for the delay, so enjoy! :) 
> 
> I'm so behind on responding to comments, but I've read them all and will respond soon. And THANK YOU again for all your encouragement and support in this story. One more chapter after this one!

**August 23, 1749**

**1:25 p.m.**

"Ye shouldna be on yer feet, Sassenach," he implored his wife, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows furrowed. Even as the words escaped his lips again, Jamie knew they'd do no good.

"Well," Claire responded, what had been playful frustration a quarter hour before morphing quickly into the real thing, "just who else is going to stitch up his hand, then? And _you_ ," she snapped, eyes trained back on her young patient, " _be still_."

Jamie knew she was right. While prepping the animals to go work in the fields, Fergus had grown a bit too spirited around Phineas, the ornery mule brought as payment by one of their tenants at the last quarter day. They'd been careful to keep the younger children away from the crotchety beast who had already sunken his teeth into Jamie and Rabbie a handful of times, though only hard enough to bruise and never break the skin.

Usually, Fergus did well keeping himself in line around the animal, but the lad had been near to bursting with pent up excitement for no explicable reason. Even Jamie had had to curb his annoyance at Fergus's exuberance. Perhaps it was just the normal liveliness of youth or his excitement at spending the past few days with the men rather than the bairns (though, Jamie allowed, Fergus did love doting on his _petite soeur_ ). Whatever the cause, the boy had been positively sprinting through the stalls, voice too loud and cheeks bright red with energy. He'd exclaimed too loudly about one thing or another too closely to Phineas's ear, and the demon had chomped down right on Fergus's hand.

Dragging Fergus back to the main house and into the kitchen, Jamie had set about cleaning the bleeding bite marks as Jenny charged from the room. No sooner had Jamie yelled after her to leave Claire be than the woman herself had waddled in, Jenny trailing behind with the medical box. The clear bite marks made explanation quite redundant as she finished cleaning the wound before getting ready to stitch up a few of the deeper gashes.

Still, though, Jamie wished Jenny had taken over Fergus's care. Claire needed to be resting in bed or at least on the couch. When he mumbled as much again, Claire sighed and closed her eyes, fingers pausing in their work, apparently working to rein in her frustration.

"I can sit just as well on a couch or bed as I can on a stool while tending to my son," she said through her teeth.

Despite her tone, Jamie's lips quirked up in a small smile, eyes still glued to his wife as she performed her healing. In the weeks since Lieutenant Foster's visit and Claire's confessions, she'd slowly come back to life before his eyes. Seeing her scolding him and Fergus or sewing up a wound (even as he pestered her to stay abed and off her feet) felt so dizzyingly good. Like the Claire from before Frank Randall had ever darkened their doorstep and their lives. The panic had left her eyes as had the circles that shadowed them from restless nights and never-ending worry and guilt. Her nightmares had lessened, and she was eating more. When she reached out to touch his arm or nuzzle his neck, Jamie felt that she did so out of simply _wanting_ to feel close to him rather than the forlorn way she'd grasped at him before, like she'd felt herself drifting away as surely as he had. Her laughter at Brianna and Fergus and wee Jamie and Maggie barreling through the home was lighter, genuine again.

The bairn would come soon, only a few weeks left now. And though Jamie's nerves grew with each passing day, so did his joy. Wee William or not, he only yearned to meet the child, hold him or her in his arms, the child that was so nearly ripped from him as completely as Faith had been. As much as he'd counseled Claire on releasing her fear and guilt, Jamie realized he would be unable to follow his own advice until he held his child in his own hands. Until he could hear its cry and feel its heartbeat beneath his fingers.

Claire hummed in satisfaction and declared her work complete. "Now," she said, voice stern in that loving maternal way that made Jamie's stomach go warm, "you, young man, are not to use that hand for at least five days. So you can stick close to Bree until you're healed. And please try to keep it clean, all right?"

" _Oui_ , Milady," Fergus said, jumping off the bench and racing back outside. Jamie thought it just as likely he'd be searching out wee Jamie and Rabbie for some mischief as Brianna and Maggie, who had gone out with Jenny to feed the chickens.

"Well, it doesn't seem like five stitches in his hand has done anything to dampen his spirits," she laughed. Claire sighed, rolling her eyes as she stood to her feet. Jamie went to support her weight as Claire rubbed her swollen womb fondly. "I give it ten bloody minutes before that bandage is covered in dirt and mud," she murmured as he led her to the chairs in the sitting room.

With only a cheerful grunt of agreement, Jamie lowered her to the chair and sat beside her, enveloping her hand in both his own. "'Tis what lads do, I'm afraid," Jamie said, eyebrow up. "For all he takes such good care o' Bree, 'tis easy to forget he's still a boy."

Rosy pink lips drew up in a lovely smile, and Jamie's mimicked hers without any conscious command to do so.

"I know," she replied, hands still grazing over her stomach. "And I'm glad for it. Won't be long before he has to leave that behind and become a man," she said, "taking on all the joys and burdens that go with it."

Jamie lifted his wife's hand to his lips, leaving a kiss there. Her intake of breath was so soft he nearly missed it, but the sound made his own heart jump. "Well, speakin' as a man myself," he said with mirth, "e'en wi' all that I've been through, that _we've_ been through, I can assure you the joys far outweigh the burdens. And you, _mo nighean donn_ , are the greatest joy of them all." All teasing left his voice, and his fingers traced her knuckles as he added in a whisper, "If Fergus finds himself a match half as wonderful as ye one day, my own, he should consider himself a blessed man indeed."

Since they'd wed, he'd lavished fanciful words and endearments on her, honesty imbued in every last one of them. Even if the mere act of speaking the words didn't warm him to his core -- which it most certainly did -- he'd never stop simply for the gift of watching his Claire's response to them. Pure contentment settled across her features. The lines that softened on her forehead and brows, the shine that hinted at unshed tears, the pink that colored her cheeks as she smirked at him again -- It was an image he wished he could capture and carry in his pocket.

Every little look that spoke to her peace shattered him.

"I hope our children can be as blessed as we've been," Claire agreed, bringing her free hand to his face. "Blessed to find a partner who cares for them and uplifts them even in hardship."

Her face fell for just a moment, and Jamie knew her thoughts dwelled on Murtagh. With another breath, though, her smile returned as well as the light behind her eyes.

As far as Claire knew, no word had yet arrived from Fort William or Ned Gowan regarding Murtagh's fate. She'd been asleep in bed and everyone else occupied elsewhere one morning ten days previously when a messenger had brought the missive from the lieutenant and departed in haste. Reading it himself, Jamie's heart had raced and sweat dampened his neck and forehead. Relief was the first emotion, followed closely by heartache.

After some internal debate, Jamie had stashed the letter in his study without telling Claire. Knowing he was wrong to hide it, knowing she'd be furious once she found out he had, he simply couldn't bring himself yet to tell her.

As days passed, he nearly relented and confessed several times. But then she'd smile or giggle or tickle Brianna or brush her fingers through his curls in a way that felt so utterly _Claire_ , the Claire who'd trusted in the security in her home, who'd taken such vital joy in her family and harbored no undue remorse for events over which she had no control. And he'd lose his nerve. To tell her and possibly bring back the darkness or dim the light within her that was just reigniting...

Perhaps it made him a coward. He didn't care. With a vow to himself not to lie if asked explicitly, Jamie resolved to wait until the bairn came and then worry about how to share the news with Claire.

So caught up in his own thoughts he was that Jamie nearly missed the grimace that crossed her face.

"Sassenach?" he asked softly.

"I'm fine," she responded automatically, face still screwed up in discomfort. "Just some early contractions." The pain seemed to pass as she relaxed again with a huff.

"Is it no early for that?" he asked, concern coloring his voice, but Claire only smiled up at him.

"Not so much," she said. "It happens sometimes, leading up to the birth. No need to fret, love. It's normal. I promise."

"Well," Jamie said, suddenly reluctant to leave her side, "I should probably get back to work then. See if we can get through it wi'out any more loss of limb," he finished with a smirk and eye roll.

Claire's responding smile filled him with warmth as she leaned up, waiting for him to come forward and kiss her. And, Christ, he marveled at the sensation of her lips against his. Six years married, and to kiss his wife still sent shivers of white hot pleasure rippling through him. Even one so quick and chaste as this, a mere pressing of lips, made the blood rush through him so his head swam with want.

Pulling away with a sigh, Jamie stood and crossed to the door. He cast one last glance over his shoulder, assured that she was settling in to do some darning, and carried on about his work.

#

**5:35 p.m.**

With the weeks spent on forced bed rest, Claire's knitting had greatly improved. Her socks were still mismatched in size, and an occasional dropped stitch (or two) left some holes in the blankets. But as she tied off and completed the minuscule jumper she'd been chugging away at for the better part of a month, she smiled. It may be her best-looking project to date, she mused.

And it would only look better with a tiny head and arms sticking out of it.

At that thought, another pain ripped through her middle. Squeezing her eyes shut, Claire breathed steadily through it. She'd been having them for a few days now. Irregular though they'd been, today they had seemed sharper than previously and certainly more frequent. It was still too soon for wee William to be making his appearance, though, and these early contractions weren't so strong that she couldn't walk or speak. So Claire carried on as much as she was able, only pausing every so often in her knitting to let the discomfort pass.

The house had been quiet all afternoon. Jenny had wrangled the younger girls to help with the chickens, then the goats, and had even mentioned weeding Claire's closer garden for her. Brianna still refused to walk to the berry garden but had no aversion to the herb garden right outside the dooryard. Soaking in the stillness of the air, Claire took a breath and made a mental note to thank her sister for granting her these hours of peace.

Orange sunbeams settled through the windows, and Claire sighed with satisfaction. Not long before the family returned ready for dinner.

No sooner had the thought wandered across her mind did she hear the door open and cheerful voices entering the home. Bree's high-pitched giggles met her ears above the rest. As the group came into Claire's view, Bree demanded, "Tickle me more, Da!"

Brianna was situated on Jamie's hip, unconcerned about his sweaty and dirt-stained shirt. The sight of her two redheads shone brighter than the sun through the windows as, with a devilish grin, Jamie obliged.

"What, like this, then, _a nighean_?" he asked as his fingers wriggled in her side. He bent over, holding her upside down. Her red curls swung to and fro as she howled with laughter and curled away from her father's hands.

Claire laughed too, watching how her daughter delighted in goading then fighting against the tickle onslaught. After another moment, Jamie planted a kiss on her red cheek and set her on her feet.

"More, Da!" Bree said, reaching her arms back up to her father.

"Nae, lass. 'Tis almost time for supper, and if yer mam doesna whip me for trackin' in mud, yer aunty surely will."

Blue eyes met amber across the room, two identical smiles growing on their lips. She was thankful for days like this. Days when she needed nothing more than a look from her husband to feel safe. When merely knowing that he worked the land alongside his tenants, performing his laird duties with zeal, brought her contentment the likes of which had evaded her for weeks now. On days like this, her cheeks ached with the smiling as she couldn't seem to stop herself.To her relief, days like this had been coming more frequently and more readily in the weeks since sharing her heart with Jamie. She felt stronger, healthier for it, and she knew it eased Jamie's worry, as well.

The darkness hadn't evaporated fully, but rather than full midnight on her soul, it was more like a cloudy day. Its presence still nagged at her, but she could see through it and follow the light to Jamie, to her family rather than get lost in blinding black. 

"Fergus," Jamie called, "help Milady to the dinin' room while I wash up. I know 'tis soon to eat, but 'twas a long, gruelin' day of diggin' and harvestin', and our wames are cryin' out to be fed!"

When Jenny, followed by her freshly scrubbed husband, made an exasperated noise behind him, Jamie whirled and shrugged. "'Tis an order from your laird, _a phiuthar_!" He winked at his sister and pecked her on the cheek before striding past them back out the door to rinse away the day's labors.

Jenny called Mrs. Crook from the kitchen and rushed through the room then. "Good thing supper tonight is a stew, then," she said, casting an accusing look at an abashed Ian, who trailed behind her. "Since it's ready whenever the _menfolk_ decide it's suppertime." The playful roll of her eyes belied the bite of her tone. Jenny grasped Ian's fingers for just a moment before turning to the dining room to help Mrs. Crook set out the bowls and utensils.

Ian, too, crossed the sitting room. "Ye need a hand gettin' to the table, lass?" he asked, pausing.

Claire shook her head. "Thanks, Ian, but my escort awaits." She beamed up at Fergus. As he held out his arm to her, Claire saw with surprise that his bandage remained clean and white. Somehow, it seemed like a symbol of his maturity -- to have followed her advice even as she expected him not to, even as she'd witnessed the overflowing energy that had charged through him like an electrical wire. And it brought tears to her eyes. 

_A boy he may be still, but, oh, he's going to be such a magnificent man before long!_ she thought to herself. A wistful sigh escaped her.

With a groan of exertion and Fergus's steady hand lending aid, she climbed to her feet. They shuffled toward the dining room, Jenny and Mrs. Crook's laughing voices coming through the doorway.

Then several things happened at once. The front door opened and boomed shut. Sounds of silverware clattering to the floor emanated from the dining room, followed by Jenny admonishing wee Jamie for sprinting through the space.

And Claire bent double, clutching her belly.

"Milady?" Fergus asked, voice unsure.

But she couldn't speak. Just inhaling through the sharp clenching in her womb proved impossible.

"Sassenach?" Jamie asked, suddenly by her side, lighthearted tone dissipating in an instant.

She tried to stand, to tell him all was well, but even as the pain eased away, Claire panted in its aftermath. By then, Ian had fetched Jenny, who joined them.

"Claire, yer waters," Jenny said then, eyes looking pointedly at the ground beneath their feet. Sure enough, when Claire looked there herself, she saw a small puddle between her feet.

" _Ah, Dhia_ ," Jamie breathed.

"No," Claire said. "No, no, no. It's too soon. At least two weeks too soon!" Panic seeped into her voice, her heart racing.

Food forgotten, Jenny began issuing orders like a drill sergeant. "Jamie, take Claire upstairs and get her undressed. Ian, ride into town, get the midwife back here, and do it quickly! Fergus, get the linens and boil some water. Rabbie and Jamie can bring it up, then they will help Mrs. Crook with the weans." As everyone stood stock still, Jenny clapped her hands once. "Now, ye numpties!"

Bodies dispersed in different directions like shots from a gun, and Claire let Jamie silently guide her to the stairs and toward their chamber. Only a few minutes passed before Jamie had her in the room, stripped to her shift, and settled on the mattress just in time for another searing contraction.

"Breathe, _mo nighean donn,_ " Jamie coached her, sitting beside her on the bed and letting her squeeze his fingers. "Breathe in, Sassenach."

 _How was he so calm right now?_ she thought with envy.

Of course, she supposed it was easier without the intermittent scorching agony that felt like she was being cut open from the inside, but still.

Jamie fluffed the pillows behind her, and she settled back against them. Her hands glided over her large belly. This wasn't supposed to be happening yet. With Brianna, false labor pains had plagued her for weeks before the birth. So she'd pushed past the occasional (though, in hindsight, growing ever-frequent) pains these past two days, assuming she still had time.

It was too soon. And she was terrified.

"Well, Sassenach," Jamie said, eyes agleam and a crooked smirk playing on his lips, "seems wee William canna wait to make yer acquaintance."

An exasperated exhale served as a chuckle, sweat breaking out on her forehead from the growing exertion of labor.

"Well, I'm glad you're feeling calm at last, Mr. Don't-walk-ten-steps-to-the-kitchen-alone-or-else-you-might-pop Fraser," she responded, laying her head back against the headboard. "Because I, for one, am on just this side of panic."

Jamie leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, hovering over her to soothe her with his kiss. "Dinna be afraid, _mo chridhe_ ," he whispered as his hands squeezed her shoulders. "By morn, we'll be meetin' another piece of our hearts, aye?"

Tears threatened to fall as another contraction hit then. Jamie whispered soothing Gaelic into her hair as Jenny and the lads entered carrying linens and hay and water. Jenny organized all their supplies without a word. Fergus approached the bed, giving Claire's hand a squeeze as the contraction relented before departing the room with the other boys.

"All right, let's see how yer doin' then." Jenny said, motioning for Claire to scoot down and let her check her progress.

"Aye," Jenny said, her voice cheery. "Yer comin' along nicely, Claire. Maybe this will be a faster birth than wi' Bree, then."

Claire only nodded, anxiety running rampant in her chest and mind. Jenny excused herself to go see if Ian and the midwife had returned.

She felt Jamie dabbing away at the sweat on her neck and chest as they sat in silence for a moment to allow another pain to come and go. They were definitely coming faster now, Claire decided. Maybe only four minutes apart, if that.

"Dinna fash, Sassenach," Jamie repeated again. "I'm here wi' ye."

Nodding, Claire put her hand to his cheek. "I know, love. I just..."

He looked to her, expectant but not rushing her.

"I wished we knew about Murtagh before the birth," she said, swallowing. She hated to remind Jamie of his godfather's uncertain future, especially as they prepared for the arduous task before them. As she'd focused on her own healing these past weeks, she'd kept alive the hope that news of Murtagh's release would precede the birth. That even if he weren't home in time for the delivery itself, he'd be able to meet wee William in these earliest days. Alas, the disappointment of not knowing when -- or if -- Murtagh would come home and meet his newest godchild settled over her.

Taking a restorative breath, she plowed forward. "It seems like we should have had some news by now, right?"

Jamie's eyes shifted back and forth, his lips tightening for just a second before relaxing again. Usually so adept he was at masking his emotions that even that brief slip put Claire on guard. "Jamie?" she asked.

The sigh that blew past his lips set her on edge. "I didna want to stress you before the bairn came," he admitted, eyes cast sheepishly to their hands, joined on the mattress between them.

"What is it, then?" Claire asked. Jamie opened his mouth to respond, then another pain had her crushing the bones of his hand. It was noticeably stronger than the previous ones and had Claire groaning as she waited for it to abate. Once it had and she could breathe again, she cast an accusing glare to Jamie.

"This can wait until--"

" _No_ ," she said. "It can't. What happened?"

Jamie closed his eyes. "I received word from Lieutenant Foster." He paused, gathering the words. "The judge was ready to issue a pardon based on the petition of complaint and Ned's defense."

The news should have elated her, but Jamie wouldn't have hidden Murtagh coming home from her. "But?" she asked.

Nodding once, he continued, "But while he was being held at the fort, they found a piece of Fraser tartan on him. He carries it wi' him everywhere and couldna hide it properly wi' everything that happened at the stones and apparently woulda abandon it on the ride there, either. Ned tried to argue his case there, as well, but the judge was adamant." Jamie shook his head, looking Claire in the eye. "The penalty is twenty lashes and five years, Sassenach."

Speech eluded her as she digested his words. Five years in prison. Because of her.

 _No_ , she told herself. _Not your fault_. Her husband, as usual, read her mind with ease.

"Ye canna blame yerself, _mo graidh_ ," Jamie whispered, one hand ghosting over her cheek while the other held tight to her hand. "And he will live. 'Tis better than a noose or firin' squad, is it no?"

"Then why hide it from me?" Claire asked, anger rising up in her. "Why--" _Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ_ , she thought to herself as she grimaced and groaned through another pain.

"I didna tell you," he said, voice raised as she bent over in agony, "because I didna want to worry ye with the knowledge. I wanted to wait until the bairn was here and safe and you'd had more time to heal yer body and spirit, _mo chridhe_. I just...I couldna bear to see ye in pain when I'd just started to see ye happy again."

Claire fell back onto the pillows with an exhale. "You...shouldn't...have hidden it...from me," she gasped, looking at him. "That's too...close...to a lie, Jamie."

In truth, she understood why he'd done it. Since they'd come home but particularly since her unburdening in the study the day Foster visited Lallybroch, Jamie's fear for her and their child had been palpable. Neither of them fully knew what her days without food and water and rest would do to her or the baby. And though she had given Jamie grief for his insistent cosseting, she agreed that she'd rather be safe than sorry. She understood her husband's instinct to give her more time to heal and move on from her guilt, to strengthen herself in mind and in body for her child.

But she still should have been told, and the betrayal of Jamie keeping her in the dark almost stung worse than the sorrow of Murtagh spending the next five years in prison.

"I ken," he said, dabbing at her face with a cloth. "I almost told you a dozen times. I'm sorry, Claire." His fingers combed through her curls, pulling them away from her still damp face. "Forgive me, lass?"

Remorse burned from his gaze. His plaintive tone, his tender look, and the nervous tightening of his fingers around hers melted away the anger in her chest. "Forgiven," she whispered. Claire took a trembling breath. "Once, we agreed to secrets but not lies, Jamie," she said. "But now, we're to the point where certain secrets _are_ lies. You are my everything, and I need to trust that we are partners, equals. I need to trust that _you_ trust in _me_ _,_ in my strength. You cannot simply decide what I do or don't need to know or what I am or am not ready for."

"Aye," Jamie agreed. "And I won't again. I swear it, Sassenach."

#

Five hours later, and contractions now ravaged Claire's body nearly every minute. As she cried her way through another one, Jamie now as damp with sweat as Claire, Jenny came into the room.

"Where's the midwife?" Jamie barked at her, his earlier composure slipping the longer he watched Claire writhing in torment.

Jenny hesitated, waiting for Claire's body to collapse in brief release. "Ian returned," she said then. "The midwife has taken ill. She'll be well, sure enough, but we canna risk her bein' around the bairn. Right?" Jenny added, seeking Claire's confirmation.

"Right," she whispered. Jamie watched her face, but she seemed too exhausted to be terribly afraid.

 _Thank Christ for small favors_ , he thought sardonically.

Jenny sighed, hands on her hips. "I guess we're on our own, then."

With a determined nod, Jenny bent down to check Claire's progress again. "Yer close," she said. Sitting back up, Jenny turned to Jamie. "Help her to the blankets by the hearth, _a brathair_."

All too happy to have a task besides simply watching his wife deal with the agony, he stood and braced her body against his. "Yer doin' a braw job, Sassenach," he muttered to her, supporting much of her weight as he brought her to the hay and blankets piled on the floor. "We're so close to meetin' our wee William, aye? Just keep doin' what yer doin'."

As he sat her down, he thought he saw a flash of doubt cross her face. He settled behind her, both his hands grasping hers at her side. "All will be well, my own."

She nodded. "I know," she whispered.

At Brianna's birth, long and bloody, his heart never ceased pounding for fear that Claire would simply expire in his arms. He'd felt the fear rolling off her in waves, as well, sure as mist coming in over the loch in the morning. Even after Bree had arrived, he'd spent those first few days stuck to Claire's side, convinced that if he left for even a second that something would happen to take one or both of his lasses from him.

Now, though, even amidst the tears and sweat and groans, the deepest part of his soul felt warm. He couldn't have said how he knew, whether it came from that vivid dream of the brown-haired lad on the road to the stones or if it was the voice of God Himself comforting him as they muscled through these hours of preparation. But he knew. She would be well. The child would be well. Somehow, he sensed the truth of it and knew she did too.

Yet her eyes were still clouded with _something_.

"Speak to me, lass," he said, planting a kiss on her temple.

Claire opened her mouth to do so, but a shrill squeak came out as she clamped down for another contraction. Jenny checked again. "Not long now." Another minute of grunting through the pain before Claire fell back against him and laid her head on his shoulder.

Jamie's eyes went back to Claire. Before he could even ask again, words spilled out of her as she tried to get through them before another pain overtook her. Or maybe before she lost her nerve.

"I'm afraid it won't be _William_ ," she said, breathing heavily. "While I was gone, keeping this child safe was the most important thing. But at the lowest points when I was most terrified, he'd move or kick or press against me, and I somehow knew that he was encouraging me, giving me his own strength to get through. Like _he_ was protecting _me_. And each time, the idea of wee William grew more and more real in my mind. So now I'm afraid that if it's not him, it'll be like I've lost him after all."

She turned to look at Jamie, eyes pleading.

"I know it's mad," she said by way of apology. "And I know that whoever he -- or she -- comes out to be, that I'll love them and that they're who got me through it all. But..."

"'Tis no madness, Claire," Jenny said softly, putting her hand on Claire's knee. Husband and wife turned to her. "'Tis like we said a while back, aye? That ye get this idea of who they are in yer heid and when they're born, that child ye dreamed of that will never come to be weighs on yer heart.

"Dinna be afraid of who yer wee one will be, Claire," Jenny went on, brown eyes soft with caring. "Whoever they are, they're strong, just like the both of ye who gave it life. Whether it's a lad or lass, 'wee William' will be held close to yer heart, always. But it willna lessen the love you have for who is to come."

Jamie felt tears rolling down his own cheeks, and Claire's shoulders trembled before him. He pressed his lips to her neck. "Aye, _mo graidh._ Couldna have said any better myself."

With a smile, Jenny braced herself. "And wi' that, sister, the next pain that comes, 'tis time to start pushin'."

Perhaps it was knowing something of what to expect this time or perhaps the birth was just that much easier, but the surety Jamie felt in his heart that Claire and the babe were safe never wavered. Some defending force shrouded them both within its protection. Jamie sensed it, nearly tangible in its strength.

As Claire clutched at him, crying out and pushing their child into the world, Jamie murmured comfort into her ear and showered her with kisses in the tiny moments of reprieve.

Then, just like that, she fell back against him, body lax and breathing heavy. Another moment, and a shriek pierced the air.

"Congratulations, the both of ye," Jenny said, face wet with tears and smile so wide her face near to split. "It's a wee lass after all."

"A lass?" Jamie breathed. "Another daughter?"

By way of answer, Jenny brought the wailing child over, passing her to Claire's arms. Jamie wrapped his own arms around his wife's weakened embrace, both supporting the weight of their child as she cried.

"Daughter," Claire whispered, her voice stunned.

They three sat huddled together and Jenny before them, their daughter's cries the only sound in the room.

"How do ye feel, Sassenach?" Jamie breathed, looking to her.

Pride buoyed his heart as she bent forward to place her lips against the lass's forehead -- _a lass,_ _ah, Dhia_! -- before turning to look back at him with a grin. "Perfect," she whispered.

"All right," Jenny said. "Da, why don't ye take the girl while Claire and I handle the afterbirth, then we'll get everyone cleaned up and in bed."

As Claire gently passed their daughter into his embrace, the familiar ecstasy of looking down into his child's face for the first time overwhelmed him. Christ, no matter how many bairns they should be blessed with, Jamie knew he'd blubber like a babe himself each time.

She had quieted now, lips smacking and bitty fingers clenching and unclenching. ( _Ten fingers, ten toes_ , he confirmed.) Her eyes opened into slits, staring up at him out of her pink, wrinkled face. Jamie could have sworn his heart leapt clean from his chest.

" _Hello, wee one_ ," he murmured in Gaelic. His finger traced her full cheek, cupping her head, from which sprouted wisps of down which looked, to him, like auburn. " _I'm so thankful to hold ye. And I'll always love ye and protect ye, no matter what_ , a nighean."

A quarter hour later, mother, father, and child cuddled together on the bed, clean and well. As Claire undid the top of her shift to nurse for the first time, Jamie reached over to run his fingers over their daughter's fists, her arms, her perfect soft cheek.

"Christ, ye forget how wee they are when they come out," he said, awe in his voice.

"I know," Claire responded, eyes fixed on the bundle in her arms. A tiny hand lay on her breast as she nursed. She chuckled then. "I think we'll have another redhead in the family, then," she said, fingers swiping tenderly at the thin locks.

Jamie grunted amiably with a smile. "Looks more auburn to me, Sassenach," he countered. "Maybe it'll be a bit darker than Brianna's."

Claire's eyes turned to him then, breaking away from their child for the first time since getting in the bed. All doubt, all worry had evaporated from her. His Sorcha positively glowed. Nothing could ever be as perfect as the beauty she exuded now, their daughter -- a piece of their love come to life -- at her breast and tears of bliss gathering in her eyes.

"She'll need a name," he said then, bringing his hand to Claire's brown curls. "We didna really prepare any for a lass."

"Well, as they say, man plans and God laughs," Claire responded, chortling. "That'll teach us to be so sure next time."

"Next time already, then? That must be a record." Jamie smirked.

With an eye roll and pursing of lips that did nothing to hide her own grin, Claire leaned back against his shoulder. "No promises. But it's hard to rule it out when they're this damn cute after the hard part is done."

The rumble of his laugh in his chest bounced Claire slightly. Luckily, the newborn's eyes had drifted closed, lips releasing as she dozed.

"So, any suggestions?" Jamie asked.

#

**August 24, 1749**

**1:35 a.m.**

Another hour later, Jamie entered the room again with a groggy Brianna in his arms and a gleeful Fergus by his side, both children woken specifically to meet their sibling. As he set Bree on the bed, all exhaustion was forgotten as she crawled over to her mother and sleeping sister with an awed gasp. Fergus stood at the bedside, eyes shining with joyous tears.

"Fergus, Brianna," Jamie said, sitting to sandwich Brianna between her parents. "We want to introduce you to your sister."

He smiled to Claire, who crooned, "Julia Elizabeth Alexandra Fraser."

Julia, for her grandmother. Elizabeth, her mother.

Derived though it was from her father's name, Alexandra -- _defender_ \-- was for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know if you're aware, but there are not that many Scottish girls' names/names they could feasibly be aware of and agree on that mean "protector/defender." I tried *desperately* to find one that wasn't derived from Alexander (which means "defender of man") so it wouldn't be tied to Jamie specifically. I wanted it to be *her* name. Alas, most names for girls are tied to physical attributes (beauty, youth, etc.) or geography (from the glen, from the valley, etc.), or if it had the meaning I wanted, it was a name still derived from Alexander/Alexandra and didn't seem like something Claire and Jamie would choose. So Alexandra it is. 
> 
> I also went back and forth so many times on if Claire would have her wee William or not. And as it came to the moment of truth, the literal moment I had to write down which it was, the baby was a girl in my mind. Hope you all enjoyed the surprise. ;)
> 
> I also actually looked up the penalty for the tartan, and apparently it's only six months on a first offense, seven years on a second. But I remember in the books that when Jamie takes the blame for the tartan in prison that he was lashed, so I took a little creative license with the punishment for reasons. 
> 
> I'm hoping the final chapter will be ready within the next week for you. I have a much clearer picture of what's happening there, so hopefully it won't hold me up so badly. 
> 
> Also, I've never been pregnant or had a child, so I'm using my Google skills to write out her labor/birth and what she thought were false labor/Braxton-Hicks contractions. The birth is also purposefully very quick to be in contrast to their experience with Brianna; from what I can tell online, second/third births (and, depending on your point of view, it's one of those) can be faster than first births. If I'm wrong....my bad.


	19. Echoes: An Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Race to the Stones: 
> 
> "August 24, 1749, 1:35 a.m.
> 
> "Fergus, Brianna," Jamie said, sitting to sandwich Brianna between her parents. "We want to introduce you to your sister."
> 
> He smiled to Claire, who crooned, "Julia Elizabeth Alexandra Fraser."
> 
> Julia, for her grandmother. Elizabeth, her mother. 
> 
> Derived though it was from her father's name, Alexandra -- defender -- was for herself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of notes at the end, so please check those out. And THANK YOU as always for your time, comments, encouragement, et al. You're all amazing and I love you.
> 
> Now that this story has finished, I will be focusing more on my other fic, The Other Side, as well as a few other story ideas brewin' in my brain. Hope you pop by to enjoy those, as well. :)

**March 14, 1754**

**12:50 p.m.**

It was different than Jamie remembered.

The dream of the brown-haired lad that had called out to him more than four years ago had lived with him ever since. Never in the passing years had the surreality or vividness of the vision left him. Every detail, even the ones not explicitly shown but just _known_ in his dream-mind, remained crisp in his memory as though he'd lived it. And once in a while, Jamie would think on it and wonder if the dream would ever come to pass like a few others he'd experienced before.

Waking up this day, Jamie went about his normal work, and the dream never entered his mind. Even as he scaled the walls of the stable with Fergus to repair the roof, he never considered the day to be anything other than normal.

But as they finished up and seven-year-old Brianna ran out, Jamie felt a stirring of familiarity. His eldest daughter had supposedly come to gather them in for lunch, but as Fergus climbed down to retrieve a tool to continue their work, Bree began antagonizing him with glee until he was swatting her and chasing her through the grass, a grin plastered on his face. Jamie only chuckled, head shaking. By the time he planted his own feet back on solid ground to grab the tool himself, Brianna and Fergus were both sprinting away, out of breath and rosy-cheeked.

Perhaps he should chastise the lad, distracted and playing before the job was complete. But at nearly eighteen, he wouldn't _be_ a lad for much longer. He and Claire had encouraged him to consider going to university in France, as Jamie had; even though Fergus's schooling and tutoring had been delayed, another year or so and Fergus would be prepared to enter university if he chose. If not, Jamie suggested searching out an apprenticeship in Edinburgh.

Fergus, however, had shown no interest in either option yet. He had little desire to leave Lallybroch at all, in fact. More than once had he insisted on remaining to do the farming and tending of the land with his father, uncle, and cousins. The boy's devotion made his own heart swell, no lie about it. And watching Fergus leave Lallybroch would tear at him like a feral wolf.

Yet, Jamie yearned for Fergus to take the chance to make his own way in the world, to explore it as he'd been blessed enough to do before coming back and making his home with Claire. Jamie wanted everything for Fergus. For him to find a lass to cherish, perhaps a more stable trade to provide for his own family someday.

But today, Fergus was home, and hearing his son's laughter meant more to him than finishing the roof. No, Jamie couldn't bring himself to halt their game.

Some time later, he'd completed the repair himself and clambered back down. He watched Fergus and Brianna and meandered closer to the pair of them. They had drifted further from the stable toward the open expanse of heather, shouts and teasing carried to him on the whipping wind. It was an uncharacteristically blue and sunny day, but the chill of spring still hung in the air.

Thinking back, Jamie couldn't remember the last time Fergus had run through the grass, so carefree. For years now, he'd been pulled into the men's work of the farm. His boyhood fancies, then, had largely fallen by the wayside in favor of accepting his increased responsibility, which he did with pride.

But the mischievous glow that had characterized Fergus's earliest days with the Frasers shone just as strongly as ever, and no one brought it out of him better than Bree. Growing though Brianna was, as well, she still somehow brought out the child in her older brother.

And, sometimes, her father too.

Drawing closer, Jamie picked up his speed and, without any prelude, joined in their play. As he chased after them both, slinging Brianna over his shoulder or tackling Fergus to the ground with their excited yelps echoing over the hills, the memory of that long-ago dream came upon him in full force.

 _So this was the day, then_ , he mused as he sprinted after Brianna, who clung on to Fergus's back. _It's here at last._

Moments later, they three found themselves laying on the grass, gasping with giggles.

"I thought you were supposed to be repairing the leak in the barn roof."

Jamie sat up sharply at his wife's voice, and a grin overtook his features.

Years ago, in stolen sleep on a journey fraught with anguish, he'd watched dream-Claire approach with the brown-haired lad on her hip. In that vision, he'd been a toddler around the same age as Brianna had been at the time. And in that dream, he'd somehow known that the five of them -- Fergus, Brianna, William, Claire, and Jamie -- had been complete.

As they walked up today, though, Claire guided two children up toward them. A girl with auburn waves plaited over her shoulder and milky skin skipped at Claire's side. Their youngest, just over a year old, sat wrapped in her arms on her hip.

Christ, the view of them making their way toward him felt like a dream itself in its purity. Bright eyes and pink cheeks greeted him from Claire's bonny face as Jamie jumped to his feet and jogged to meet them. A tingling sensation tickled his skin to see all of his family together and happy like this.

"Aye," Jamie responded as he planted a soft kiss on her lips. "We did, then Bree came out and jumped on Fergus's back and...well, we got a bit distracted. So 'tis her fault, ye ken."

Just like he remembered, Claire gazed at him with delight. He soaked it in with gratitude.

 _Lord, thank ye for gettin' us to this day, and I beseech ye that they may all be safe, on this day and all the days to come_ , he prayed.

"And how's the patient feelin' today, then?" he asked as he lifted his younger son into his arms and kissed his cheek.

"Much better," Claire replied. "No more fever, and he hasn't coughed all morning."

"Och, we kent ye were a braw lad, _a bhalach_ ," Jamie murmured to the babe. "And wi' yer mam's healin' hands, no invisible beasties had a chance on you."

Perhaps the biggest departure from the dream was his son. When he'd been born fourteen months before, he and Claire had agreed that the name "William" just didn't fit anymore. Jamie remembered still the trepidation with which Claire had shared her thoughts as they awaited their fourth bairn.

_"I know you want to honor your brother," she'd said tenderly, belly round again with his child, who was expected any day. "And I want to give you that. But..." She'd pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes wide with nerves._

_"Ye can say anythin' to me,_ mo chridhe _," he'd whispered, his arm wrapped around her shoulders._

 _She'd swallowed. "To me, the name 'William' is just so closely tied to that awful time, all the fear and anger and hurt..." Claire had turned her face away from him, looking down at her hands on her belly. "As time goes further on, I'm so_ glad _we had Julia instead of William. If we'd given our child that name at that time, I think it would have been a lifelong reminder of all that we suffered in those weeks. And I don't ever want to look at our child and think of pain."_

_As soon as she'd spoken the words, Jamie had realized she was right. William had been a name for someone else, another child that existed within their souls. He'd nodded with resolve._

_"Then we'll let wee William live in our hearts, Sassenach," he whispered. He'd turned her face toward him and pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. "Wi' our Faith. And we'll honor Willie wi' another name."_

"Da!" Julia spoke up finally from her mother's side. "Da, guess what?"

Julia took after Claire so strongly in her features, stronger than any of the others. Her round whisky eyes, the delicate nose with the curve right at the end, her long neck and elegant cheek bones evident even beneath the roundness of babyhood. Her wavy hair, finer and less wild than her sister's exuberant curls, was a more muted brown but with glints of red that shone in the sun.

But more than that, Julia took after Claire's healing, as well. Where Brianna had been more apt to follow her brother and father and cousins to track and hunt as soon as she was big enough, Julia shadowed Claire in her stillroom. From the time she could walk on her own, she even traveled with Claire to treat the tenants' families. Many a night would he listen to Claire crooning before falling asleep about their daughter's instincts, how she seemed to intuitively understand what remedies each patient needed. Recipes and instructions demonstrated once became ingrained in Julia's mind, recalled perfectly the next time it was needed. At four and a half years old, Julia likely knew more about healing than many of those her mother tended to.

Jamie took a knee, his lad still held at his hip. "What, _m'annsachd_?"

Julia distractedly pushed a strand of hair from her face. "Mama, she let me...Mama teached me, um, she teached me how tae make a tea."

" _Taught_ , Jules," Claire corrected her quietly, but her smirk never faded.

"A tea?" Jamie exclaimed. "What kind of tea, _mo chuisle_?"

Jules bounced on the balls of her feet, excitement coursing through her. "Um, 'tis a tea for fever an' for...an' for a cough. To make Simon all better. An' she let me give it to him all on my own, too."

Jamie looked up through his own russet curls at Claire from his position on the ground. His wife beamed at their lass, who rattled off a handful of ingredients to show off her accomplishment. By this time, Fergus and Brianna had joined them. Fergus knelt down, as well, mirroring Jamie's posture. "Such knowledge you have, _mon petit chou_ ," he praised her with clear adoration. "Before long, Milady will be sending you all on your own, _non_?"

"Aye, my wee jewel," Jamie agreed. With a huff of pride, he leaned over and kissed her loudly on the forehead. Julia preened under all the attention. "Yer as talented as yer mam, no doubt about it."

Brianna, energetic and bored with sitting still, pinched her sister playfully on the arm and ran off giggling. The younger girl was used to this game of tag and sprinted off after Brianna, girlish shrieks and laughter mingling in the air.

Never had a day been as perfect as this, he thought.

Jamie stood. Simon rested his little head of brown curls on his shoulder and stuck his thumb in his mouth. In the dream, Jamie remembered hoping that his son's rich brown curls would end up as untamed and beautiful as his mother's. Wee though he still was, the deep brown whorls growing in held just as much promise. Nothing would please him more than to see his Sorcha's wild mane on their son.

Claire stood with her arm around Fergus's shoulders. They were the same height now. Christ, when had that happened?

"Yer sure he's well, then, Sassenach?" Jamie said, inclining his head toward the son in his arms.

"Sack!" Simon suddenly echoed from around his thumb. "Sack-ack!"

"I'm sure," Claire assured him. Taking a step closer, she rubbed her hand up and down on the bairn's tiny back. "He's still tired, poor thing, but by tomorrow he'll be running after Michael and Janet and up to his usual mayhem," she finished, speaking of Jenny's twins who were only three months older than Simon; as such, they'd become quite the trouble-making trio.

"Good," Jamie said before kissing Claire again. "Fergus, lad, round up the hellcats and let's go eat somethin' before we waste away."

The Fraser family made their way back toward the house, the girls skipping together or jumping and pulling on their ever-patient older brother. As the arch came into view, they spied an unfamiliar horse tied outside.

"We weren't expecting Jeremy, were we?" Claire asked.

In the preceding four years, the former lieutenant, now Major Foster had made infrequent but welcome visits to ascertain the well-being of the estate and its tenants. Jamie also suspected they had him to thank for the complete lack of Redcoat harassment in that time, yet another debt he owed that the soldier would never collect upon.

"'Tis no his horse," Jamie answered warily, eyebrows furrowed. Prosperous and idyllic as Lallybroch often felt, the Highlands at large had endured the burden of a post-Culloden regime of retribution and domination by the British, and thus visitors were rare. Only a handful of people had passed through since Frank Randall's disastrous visit, in fact, and Jamie treated each with due caution.

In another life, one where they hadn't found themselves allied with a kindhearted Redcoat or where he'd joined the failed Rising himself, Jamie knew he could well have lost every single person he loved, lost himself in the agony of it. Every single thing he cherished and held within arm's reach at this very moment could be nothing but ghosts and ashes. If they'd come to exist at all. Jamie would never take for granted the peace he and his family enjoyed here. A luxury not afforded to very many, he knew.

They grew quiet, shushing the children as they passed under the archway and crossed into the dooryard. A figure sat on the steps.

"'Tis about time. I've been waitin' here for nigh on an hour. Jenny didna think ye'd tarry so much wi' the promise of food on the table."

Jamie didn't respond. Wind whistled in his ears. Jamie didn't trust the evidence of his eyes until Fergus stepped forward. "Murtagh?" the lad asked in his fading French lilt, incredulous.

The figure stood, smiling. A bit more white streaked his hair and beard, and his skin was paler than Jamie remembered. But it was him. Here, today. Jamie had trouble breathing. He looked to Claire, whose tear-filled eyes and gaping mouth revealed her own shock.

"Well, is no one here happy to see me, then?" Murtagh teased, arms wide. Fergus bounded over to him with a wide smile and hugged him, the two men slapping each other's backs. "My, ye've grown, _a bhalach_ ," Murtagh said as he took in Fergus's lean, towering form. Jamie saw tears gathering in Murtagh's eyes as he sighed, nodded once, and turned to the rest of the Frasers, all standing rooted to the spot.

" _A ghoistidh_?" Jamie whispered, still uncomprehending. Five full years hadn't yet passed. And Jeremy had said nothing about Murtagh coming home soon. How was he here?

"I didna bide all that time and wait till I had six months left to my sentence to escape, if that's what yer wondering," he said dryly, apparently reading the question in Jamie's eyes. "The prison was shuttin' down. They transferred most of the prisoners to other prisons or the colonies, but a handful close to term were issued pardons and sent off on our merry ways. A sign of benevolence from the crown," he added with a disdainful eye roll. Murtagh shook off the moment and gazed once more to his family.

Tears streamed down Jamie's cheeks as he closed the gap and wrapped his free arm around his godfather's neck, Simon still held in his other. Murtagh's own arms embraced them both, and they stood that way for several minutes in silence. Jamie could hear the girls, curious and antsy behind them, but he ignored them. Right now, for just this minute, all that mattered was Murtagh, alive. And home.

Claire joined them, her thin arms holding tight to the man before her. Sobs shook her frame, and Jamie rested his head on Claire's shoulder as they stood twined together. Jamie could feel the relief emanating from his godfather to be holding them all, warming his eyes and relaxing his shoulders.

Listening, Jamie heard choked "thank yous" and "I missed yous" from Claire, words muffled against the man's shirt. Jamie's heart clenched. Murtagh's appearance would have an entirely different meaning for Claire. The man who had helped save her from losing her family, for whom she'd carried a great amount of guilt for a long while. To have him here, alive and whole...Jamie could all but see the weight evaporating from her back at long last.

Hot tears threatened to spill over again.

After another moment, they all pulled away. Claire, with a tearful chuckle, said, "You have a few people to meet, then."

She pulled Julia over. "Last you knew this one, we were calling her wee William." Claire brushed fresh tears from her cheeks. "Murtagh, this is Julia Elizabeth Alexandra Fraser. And she's here because of you."

Murtagh bowed slightly. He didn't speak, though, and Jamie thought he may be too overcome to form words as he met the child he'd raced to save from the stones.

"And, of course, you'll remember Brianna." Claire motioned for their older daughter to approach, who did so cautiously.

"Aye, lass," Murtagh said, sniffing. "Do ye remember me, then?"

Brianna nodded slowly. "You left wi' Da, but you didna come back," she said slowly.

"Aye," Murtagh confirmed.

"But you've come back now?" Brianna asked.

He repeated, "I have."

Bree nodded solemnly but gave Murtagh a quick hug around the middle before running inside, Julia hot on her trail.

Murtagh didn't seem bothered by their formality, so Jamie shrugged it off, as well. Bree hadn't seen him since she was a toddler, and Julia never had. Time would let Murtagh into their hearts.

And, luckily, time they now had.

"And this wee fella," Jamie said as he smiled, looking down at his son in his arms, "is our youngest. Simon Henry Murtagh Beauchamp Fraser."

Without any conscious thought, he passed the lad to Murtagh's waiting arms. Jamie never would've described his godfather as a cuddly or sentimental man. But as Murtagh held his youngest godchild, one he hadn't even known existed yet, all of his carefully honed gruffness dissipated. Never had Jamie seen Murtagh look so softly upon anyone as he did on Simon, who was happily exploring the man's face and beard and hair.

"Ye ken," Murtagh said, looking to Jamie, who wrapped an arm around his wife's waist. "Every single day, I'd think o' ye all here, wonderin' if ye were happy, if the bairn had made it all right, hopin' I'd come back to find yer family even fuller than I'd left it. 'Tis a blessing to see it so."

Claire trembled with silent sobs, and Jamie struggled to maintain his own composure. He clapped Murtagh on the arm. "'Tis only possible because of ye," he said. "I owe ye my wife, my bairns..." Jamie took a deep breath, willing himself into control. "I owe ye more than I can ever tell ye, _a ghoistidh_ , and certainly more than I could repay."

"There's nothin' to repay," Murtagh countered him, bouncing Simon slightly in his arms. The babe giggled and smiled, showing off his handful of tiny teeth as his blue eyes shone. "Ye ken there's nothin' I wouldna do for any of ye, aye?"

"I think you've proven that," Claire said.

Jamie opened his mouth to speak just as Jenny came through the front door. "Well, if yer all through wi' the grand reunion, the meal's waitin'," she called to them, a hint of a smirk on her lips as she cocked an eyebrow. "Hasn't the man suffered enough wi'out chokin' down a cold dinner?"

Murtagh chortled then, turning with Simon in his arms. "Aye. Let's eat, then."

Arm in arm with his wife and Fergus at his other side, Jamie wiped away the final tears and followed his godfather into the house.

At last -- at long last -- his family was complete.

#

**10:55 p.m.**

Claire sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair and waiting for Jamie to come to bed. After Murtagh's surprise reappearance, Jamie had spent the afternoon and much of the night sharing whisky and stories of the past four years with him. Now, with the children all abed and the rest of the adults heading that way, Jamie and Murtagh still sat beside the hearth downstairs, low voices conversing and occasionally laughing or grumbling as the reminiscence demanded.

Eyelids drooping with fatigue, Claire had kissed both men on the cheeks and retreated upstairs without a word an hour ago. Never would she dream of pulling Jamie away from his godfather. Even with the time they now knew they had, these first hours were precious. This is when they'd relearn each other, share the highs and lows of their time apart.

A flutter in her stomach made Claire smile.

She'd meant to tell him tonight -- if he didn't somehow already know as he usually did, that is -- but it could wait.

Faith came to Claire's mind, as she was wont to do, especially in such a condition. Memory of the perfect baby in her arms was a cold stone dropped onto her chest, as were the imaginings of the nearly-ten-year-old she should be right now.

 _How much changes in a decade_ , she mused.

Back then, the pain had been so intense, so all-consuming that Claire didn't believe she'd ever function fully again. Hatred for herself and for Jamie had burned within her. She never believed she'd have the strength to grow another life and bring it forth again.

Now, ten years and three children later, the hole in their family where Faith belonged ached but didn't devour. Not a day passed that Claire -- and, she knew, Jamie -- looked to Bree and Jules and didn't imagine the third little girl reigning over them. But she felt her first child's presence always, the guardian who watched and protected her siblings from afar.

If Claire couldn't have her girl here in her arms, she'd settle for the warmth of her in her heart until they should meet again.

Sadness tinged her smile as she looked down and rubbed her flat stomach. Muted footsteps sounded from the hallway, and Claire pulled her hand away as Jamie opened the door, a contented smile on his lips and his red eyes soft.

"I hope we didna keep ye awake, Sassenach," he whispered. He crossed the room to put his hands on her shoulders and plant a tender kiss on the crown of her head.

"No, you're fine," she whispered back, standing and turning. Her arms laced around his neck, his around her waist. Smiling, Claire kissed him gently, inviting him in. Their breaths slowed, deepened. Her heart pounded.

"You, my dear," Claire murmured through a chuckle, "smell like a distillery."

"Bu' a distillery that makes _excellent_ whisky, aye?" His accent had grown even thicker in intoxication, his final consonants dropping completely as he stretched out the words.

"Oh, aye," Claire responded. Her fingers teased the curls at the nape of his neck, twirling them round. "I'm surprised you're still standing, honestly. You've had enough of that _excellent whisky_ to fell a horse."

Jamie let out a _pfft_ of scorn. "Ye ken Donas is a prized steed, Sassenach, but I wouldna waste a drop o' my whisky on a beast coulda appreciate such fine, sweet nectar."

Her laughter grew as she buried her face in his chest. Warm arms squeezed her tight against him as Jamie's chest rumbled beneath hers. "Are ye laughin' at me, ye cacklin' besom?"

"Yes, I am," Claire breathed through her giggles. As she looked up into Jamie's clear eyes, blue as the perfect sky had been that day, the hilarity departed. Desire and affection washed over her like a rising tide, and she stood on her toes to kiss him again. Head swimming, blood racing. His hands gliding along her sides and up to cradle her face.

Eyes closed to savor this feeling, Claire murmured into his lips, "Blood of my blood."

"Bone of my bone," he answered automatically. When Claire's eyes eased open, she found him staring at her with an intensity that threatened to liquify her on the spot. "What's on yer mind, _mo graidh_?" he purred, nuzzling into her neck.

 _Now?_ she thought to herself. With no good reason not to, Claire continued to play with his beautiful red curls as she thought of the words to tell him.

Closing her eyes again, she touched her lips briefly to his neck and whispered against his skin, "I have another gift for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, folks, that's a WRAP! I cannot believe my first full fic has come to an end, but I've learned so much from writing and sharing it, and I've loved every second. 
> 
> There is no additional arc currently *planned* for this story, but I have a few one-shot scenes that have been popping in my mind as I've prepared to finish this story, and lets be real...I'm not quite ready to let go of it completely. If I end up adding anything extra, I'll be sure to create a series. I'll also post an announcement chapter here so you can be notified if anything new comes up. :)
> 
> I also created a Tumblr account as so many here have....it's currently completely empty as I have no idea what to do with it, lol, but it's there if you want to follow me. 
> 
> https://isthisclever.tumblr.com/
> 
> Other story notes -- Willie's full name was William Simon Murtagh Mackenzie Fraser, hence why wee William became wee Simon. Also, I have no idea what years Jenny's kids were born and, as mentioned previously, I got kinda behind on her offspring anyway, so I just decided which ones I wanted to exist and when and made it work...
> 
> This was also why wee William became Julia. Someone commented on a previous chapter that they hoped the whole ordeal with Frank wouldn't scare Jamie and Claire off having more kids, and I really wanted to emphasize that (aside from 18th century birth control, even if they wanted to use it, not being super reliable) Claire and Jamie share this dream of raising and nurturing a big family. After all the turmoil they've had to endure, what they truly want is to just love each other and any children they have. The fear will always be there, but their love for each other only grows as their family does, too.
> 
> Lastly, I really wanted Jamie to have a moment to consider why his dream was different than the reality that eventually came, but it just didn't fit at any point in the story, especially since there was so much information and inner dialogue I wanted to include that I didn't want it to be overwhelming or just "noise," so to speak. But in my mind, Jamie's ability to see "the future" in his dreams are less about seeing a definitive future and more about the aura and spirit of what's to come. And at the time when he was having the dream, he was reaching out for some measure of hope that he would succeed and wouldn't lose Claire and the baby, but obviously had no notion of how his family would continue to grow in the years to come. So he got a bit of a mishmash of actual events to come with his own hopes and imagined events, as well. If that makes any sense.
> 
> And again, thank you all for being so supportive and welcoming on my first fic journey. I'm officially hooked and will definitely be adding more.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first fic EVER and I'm excited / nervous to share it with you. I discovered Outlander in April 2020 and have been ravenously devouring the show, books, and fanfic ever since. It's also been a goal of mine to focus more on getting back to writing, which I haven't done in a long time because of life and anxiety, and I figured this would be a great way to dip my toes back into the waters. It's also my birthday tomorrow, so to me, this is a way to start this next year off right. :) 
> 
> I have a lot of this story written already, though it's not yet complete. I plan, at this point, to post weekly and have several weeks all ready to go. 
> 
> Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback. Love to you all, and stay well!


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